Helljumper
by M. Cartwright
Summary: The year is 2550. A team of elite ODSTs callsign "Charlie Six" are enjoying a much needed shore leave after months of fighting. The Covenant invade in the midst of their R&R and in the height of the battle, the team is recalled to a remote ONI base in the mountains. They find the Covenant are determined to seize the base and the team begins to ask the question: what're they after?
1. A Night In Town

**HALO: HELLJUMPER**

**By M. Cartwright**

**A/N: So, this is it. After several years of hiatus, ideas that never fell through, muse coming and going, I've finally returned with a fiery vengeance to stir the order of things here on FanFiction…**

**Well, not exactly. I've been wanting to do this for a **_**long **_**time and I never really got around to it. Occasionally I'd entertain the idea and write a rough draft only to find myself unsatisfied with what I had. But now it seems that those tables have turned and I'm finally re-writing Helljumper—the breakout story that had been years in the making (in terms of writing a story and finishing it). I assure you that I plan to see this out to the end; I'm in it for the long haul. To anyone who read the original, I hope that you will equally enjoy the re-write and let me know what you think. **

**To those of you who're new to all of this: be prepared for a thrill ride. I plan to slowly build up to the action in the next few chapters—so don't be disappointed that there isn't anything going on at the moment. Your thirst for war and violence will be aptly satisfied soon. I am also writing this to let everyone know I am returning to my original pen name (post-JEDIKNIGHT32) "Sgt Cartwright" and will not only be writing in the Halo category, but in a multitude of others as well. Though, my main focus and love will always be the Halo Universe. **

**Anywho, without further ado, I proudly present to you the fruition of my labors: Helljumper. The re-write. Special thanks to Obsidian Thirteen/Productions for assisting me in the editing of this story. The help was really appreciated.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own rights to Halo nor am I in any way affiliated with Bungie Studios, Microsoft, or 343 Industries. All characters whom are not OCs belong to the aforementioned parties above. All OCs, however, are mine and the plot of this story belongs to me as well. **

**SECTION I: PEARL CITY**

**CHAPTER I: A NIGHT IN TOWN**

**2346 Hours Local Time, July 5****th****, 2550 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \**

**Shore Drive, Oceanfront, Pearl City Seaside District,**

**Crystal, Umbra System**

It was a normal Friday night, just like any other.

The streets of the Seaside District were filled with traffic and pedestrians. Nightclubs were bustling with life; music blasting so loud that people several blocks away could still faintly hear the pounding of the bass. Hotels found themselves booked to capacity as tourists would come and go, stores packed with eager customers, all typical of a Friday night in Pearl City. Besides the artificial light stemming from the city, Crystal's twin moons shimmered across the ocean and revealed yet another cloudless night.

Crystal was one of only two habitable planets in the Umbra star system and the only one to be colonized. It had been chosen for its Earth-like atmosphere and mostly tropical climate. Few parts of the planet experienced temperatures under sixty degrees Fahrenheit and those that did were for the most part left remote and untouched by civilization. The majority of the planet's population had settled along the equatorial regions of the main continent—thus spawning the sprawling megatropolis that was Pearl City. Over three million people called the eighty-six mile long city their home.

But apart from its pleasing climate and aesthetic beauty, initial scans of the planet's surface had detected a plethora of raw materials. Around the time that the first settlement was built, a vast number of mining and shipping companies set up shop planet-side to begin harvesting its resources. Thus, Crystal had quickly become a major exporter of valuable resources—including raw materials used to construct starships—and within a few years had become one of the UEG's most prosperous colonies.

In the modern day and age not only was Crystal a major tourist attraction for those who could afford it, but also somewhere the UNSC sent their troops after spending too much time on deployment—a place where soldiers could relax and enjoy some R&R before being sent back out to the frontlines. Thus the reason why Staff Sergeant Ward and his crack ODSTs found themselves cruising down the streets of Pearl City in a car he'd rented earlier that day. After nearly a year of moving from planet-to-planet, combating both the Covenant and local insurrections, the crew aboard the UNSC carrier _Big Ben_ (his unit included) had finally been granted a brief two-week shore leave to relax and forget about the war.

"Let's check out that club over there."

Ward cast a look to the right up ahead. He spotted a building with a rather large crowd of people standing outside its doors awaiting entry. Casting an eerie glow upon the dimly lit parking lot situated over the entrance were a pair of moons, side-by-side, with the name _"Moonight" _underneath them in cursive. He shrugged and turned the wheel, pulling into the parking lot and stopping the car in the only open space he could find. He cut off the engine and looked to the other occupants of the car.

The man who had suggested stopping at this particular nightclub out of the dozens that lined the oceanfront sat next to him. Corporal Martin Thomas, his best friend since Helljumper School and the second-in-command of Charlie Six. Apart from having known him for a couple years, he had come to learn that the corporal was handy with electronics. His official position within the squad was that of its technician and so far he had yet to not amaze the staff sergeant with his talents. If he ever needed a lock bypassed, computer hacked, or a piece of equipment fixed he knew who to call.

Pushing that thought to the back of his mind he glanced back at the remaining occupants of the car, PFCs Colin MacDoyle and Tyler Owen, and Lance Corporal Jacob Wilson. They remained quiet but could tell they were all excited. Wilson hid it better than the two sitting on either side of him; however, the glint in his eyes betrayed his blank expression. Ward felt a grin crease across his face before he opened the driver side door and stepped out of the car. The others followed suite in unison and rushed their way over to the line while the staff sergeant locked the car before joining them.

A few minutes passed before they were finally admitted into the club—each of them having to flash the bouncer their military IDs—and the five men made their way past the dance floor to a table near the bar. A few moments after sitting down a waitress with ocean blue eyes and shoulder length blond hair approached the table. Her name tag read "Mercedes."

"Hey there! What can I get you?"

Ward hadn't needed to check the menu. "I'll have a Budlight, ma'am."

"Same here," chimed Wilson.

"Good choice, Willie."

Mercedes nodded her head as she entered their orders into her datapad. While she was preoccupied with that, Ward noticed MacDoyle eying their waitress up. The expression on his face said it all; he was interested in her. He could understand why, too. Mercedes was slim with tan skin and a smooth complexion. Her hair was straight and possessed a sandy tint to it. Her navy blue shirt with the _Moonlight _logo on it hugged her figure tight, and so did her black skirt. All in all, she was a very attractive woman.

Finished with typing in the orders of the staff sergeant and lance corporal, she moved on to none other than MacDoyle. "And you, sir?"

"I'll take Scotch whiskey, love."

She nodded. "Okay. Nice mohawk by the way."

Mac smiled charmingly at her and unconsciously ran his fingers through his hair. "Thanks. I like yer name," he said in a flirtatious voice. "_Mercedes_. It's exotic."

Her cheeks turned a bright shade of red while she typed in his order. The young PFC chuckled and offered her charming wink when she looked up from her datapad. Ward shook his head and stifled a laugh as he watched the scene. In all his years in the military he had never met anyone quite like Colin. But, than again, the kid sort of reminded him of himself. Though, he hadn't been quite as… outgoing… as the trooper sitting to his left across from him. It had taken him all the courage he could muster to talk to the woman who he proudly called his wife.

He glanced down at his wedding band with a soft sort of smile. He met Charlene Kendall in his freshman year of high school and by about halfway through his sophomore year they were dating. Just before he graduated and enlisted in the Marines he'd proposed to her and officially married after he had returned from boot camp. That was mainly what had gotten him through those three grueling months. The thought that not only would he come out of it a Marine, but that he would be getting married shortly thereafter. She had been very supportive of him and her letter chips had kept him going day-in-and-day-out during his training.

Thomas and Owen ordered their drinks and Mercedes left to tend to her other tables. She came back not too long after with their drinks before scurrying off again as things got busier. By now there was a _massive _crowd on the dance floor and the heavy bass of the music reverberated in Ward's ears. Owen mentioned that he wanted to mingle and get some numbers, so Mac hastily ushered him in the direction of the dance floor to start meeting people. This left Wilson, Thomas, and Ward sitting to themselves with their drinks.

"I should've gotten a beer," remarked Martin after taking a sip of his drink.

"Don't like it?" Wilson asked him.

"Too fruity."

Jon chuckled. "That sounds like a personal problem, Marine."

Martin scoffed and glared at him for a moment. This only made the staff sergeant laugh a little harder. Wilson allowed a small grin to come across his features as he took a swig of his beer. Intent on changing the subject before more joking started, Thomas said, "Too bad Coop's not here."

"Where is Doc, anyway?" Wilson inquired, his eyes shifting between the two.

It was Ward who answered. "Visiting family," he said matter-of-factly. "His aunt and uncle own an apartment in Residential District A."

The lance corporal nodded and a silence fell upon the table. Ward took it as a moment to sit back with his drink and listen to the music. The DJ was shifting from different genres of music—playing the most popular tracks out of each genre—and currently they were listening to some techno. He watched the crowd on the dance floor. They were all in their own world, oblivious to the happenings around them. Men and women dancing together, gyrating, and he spotted a few women grinding with some of the men and—occasionally—other women. He felt himself wishing his wife were there with him. He would be on that very same dance floor if she were.

Though, admittedly, he wasn't much of a dancer. It wasn't that he _couldn't _dance as much as he didn't _like _to. But at the moment he was feeling in the mood to do so. _Not gonna happen, _he thought with a smirk to himself. If Charlene wasn't with him then he wasn't dancing. Period. End of story.

"So how long we stayin' here?" Martin asked as he took another reluctant sip of his beverage.

"Anxious to leave already, Thom?" Ward quipped with a grin. "I don't know. The hotel's pretty much across the street so I'm in no rush."

He took a long swig of his beer and swished the liquid in his mouth, relishing the taste, before inevitably swallowing it. He found that he _liked _the taste of Budlight as opposed to other beers. But only if it were in a bottle. He couldn't stand the taste of carbonated beer… it left a horrible aftertaste. One he could never easily get rid of. Not even with mouthwash, surprisingly enough.

Several hours and a few more beers in his stomach later, Mac and Owen returned. Though it appeared they were in the midst of a heated debate. As soon as they were close enough to hear, he listened in. "Coswalop! Han _clearly _shot first!"

"Oh, good God," sighed Thomas, shaking his head negatively at the approaching PFCs. Ward just smirked, amused by the subject of their debate. _Star Wars_. The centuries old cult-classic. He remembered back in his childhood the first time he'd ever watched the movies. His father had just returned from a deployment in the Outer Colonies and had bought him the entire saga on holodisc as a belated birthday present. He _loved _them. Couldn't get enough of it.

Now that he was much older he didn't care for it as much. Though he could still quote all the movies word-for-word without even needing to watch them. He had been _that _addicted to it as a kid.

"No, no, no!" Owen replied fervently. "Greedo _definitely _shot first. Watch the Collector's Edition!"

"The _Collector's Edition _is a steaming pile of shite!" MacDoyle barked as he plopped down in his chair.

Thomas looked like he'd had enough. "Hey, ladies, why don't you get a room?" he asked with the slightest hint of a grin. "That way you can sort out your marriage issues in private."

Mac shot the corporal a glare. "Sod off."

"Sod off, _Corporal_," he shot back.

"That sounds like a shotgun!" Owen interjected.

"Shut up, Owen."

Jonathan watched the scene transpire with a wide grin. He gently shook his head at his friends and turned his attention, again, to the dance floor. Heavy bass boomed at a fast-pace, the sound reverberating off the walls and causing the floor to rumble beneath the legs of the chair. He thought nothing of the short, but prominent quakes under them until another song came on—its beat much slower in tempo—and the ground shook out of sync with the beat of the track. The Staff Sergeant furrowed his brow and looked to his men.

They all had the same expression he did; that of concern. The ground quaked again, this time much stronger, and the echo of an explosion muffled by the walls of the building resounded in his ears. Standing up quickly, knocking his chair over in the process, he turned his attention towards the exit. Suddenly, a quartet of police officers rushed into the building with weapons in hand. The music stopped and the club went disturbingly quiet. The silence was broken by a trio of explosions that sounded too close for the Staff Sergeant's liking.

"PPD!" The lead cop announced loudly, an insignia of a Police Sergeant emblazoned on his collar. "I'm Sergeant Houser; I'm going to ask everyone to exit the building calmly and in an orderly fashion. Return to your vehicles and follow the instructions of the Superintendant and of my fellow officers. An evacuation is in effect."

Ward immediately knew exactly what was going on. He looked to his men who seemed to have come to the same conclusion; the startling realization causing them to go pale. As the once lively crowd of people began to make their way towards the exit—and the first signs of panic began to crop up—Jonathan, with his ODSTs in tow, pushed through the crowd. He stopped only to inform the officers who he was—and Sergeant Houser ordered one of the other cops, Constable Harris, to escort them to their vehicle. Harris took point and Ward followed behind him as closely as possible. The frequency of the explosions had increased and he was certain he had heard the distant staccato of gunfire.

As soon as the Constable had escorted them through the threshold of the front doors, Ward's eyes were met with the familiar signs of a battle. Scorch marks marred the light blue concrete pavement of the street beyond the parking lot and sparks dropped from a flickering street light. Distant screams and gunfire permeated the sense that all hell had suddenly broken loose. And up in the sky—in front of the bright luminescence of the twin moons of Crystal—was a flight of Banshees.

They were headed directly towards them.

"Incoming!" Ward screamed, running full tilt towards whatever cover he could find. Panic ensued and people ran in all directions, running into each other, knocking others over, trampling them. The pure chaos that had unfolded had given the Banshees the perfect opportunity… and a massive target area. The sound of seven fuel rod cannons firing at once filled his ears, drowning all other noise out for half a second. Jonathan watched in horror as a handful of people were flash vaporized, while others were thrown several feet in the air, only to land a few meters away in smoldering heaps. Those that weren't injured the detonations seemed even more distraught. Sergeant Houser and the officers that had arrived with him rushed outside and began crowd control.

Ward quickly looked around for his men. He spotted them emerging from different spots-Thomas from an alley, Mac and Owen from behind a car, and Wilson exited the club a second time. As much as he wanted to assist the officers with regaining control of the crowd, he knew that they couldn't. He needed to get into contact with Captain Schruger, their commanding officer. He wasn't sure if calling him on his datapad would work… the line would likely be busy. Fortunately, he knew where he could find him. There was a military base only a few kilometers away in the Government District. Schruger would most likely be there.

As he ordered his men into the rental car and he jumped into the driver seat, a single thought crossed his mind. _The Battle of Crystal has begun._

The Covenant had found them.


	2. Civvies In Distress

**HALO: HELLJUMPER**

**By M. Cartwright**

**A/N: Well guys, here's Chapter Two. It took me awhile to write this and I went through a few drafts of it before finally coming up with something I liked. When I finally got my ideas straightened out I managed to churn this chapter out in the span of a few hours. I'm pleased with it but I'm not exactly sure how well I wrote out the combat scenes. Lemme know what you think about them and, as always, any tips, advice, and criticism you give me would be greatly appreciated. **

**But, anywho, here it is. Enjoy!**

**CHAPTER II: CIVVIES IN DISTRESS**

**2702 Hours Local Time, July 5****th****, 2550 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \**

**PPD Blocking Position, District Gate, Business District A, Pearl City, **

**Crystal, Umbra System**

Normally at this hour all would be hauntingly quiet.

There would not be a single vehicle on the road save for the occasional random car passing by. Not a soul would be wandering the streets. All of the businesses, stores, and clubs closed and locked up. At the moment the city should have been asleep. Or trying to, anyway.

But the night was normal no longer.

The skyline was lit with bright, sporadic flashes of orange and blue light. Thundering booms resounded across entire city blocks. Streaks of twenty millimeter anti-aircraft fire tore through obsidian skies towards tiny specks of purple that were descending from the distant clouds to the metropolis below. Screams and shouts of terror, surprise, and agony were barely audible over the staccato of gunfire and chorus of explosions. A symphony of chaos permeated the senses of those caught in the middle of it.

"Somebody close the goddamn gate!"

Green and blue streams of light soared over Staff Sergeant Ward's head as he tightened his grip on the MA5B Assault Rifle in his grasp. The display would almost be beautiful if it weren't for its lethal intent. Just beyond the open gateway that separated Business District A from Residential District E was a lance of Covenant troops led by an Elite Minor. The blue-armored alien stood ducked behind an abandoned car in the middle of the road, barking out orders to his subordinates who currently had Ward's team and a small squad of police pinned behind cover. Six Grunts and three Jackals laid down an arcing barrage of plasma and needle fire that threatened to drop anyone who popped out of cover.

The only way to bring an abrupt end to the skirmish would be to close the gate just ahead of the road block that had been set up. Metal barriers that had sprung from the road were the only source of hard cover the humans had from the incoming barrage of fire. The distance between the gate control console and the barriers was at least fifteen feet. A long distance as far as they were concerned. Just as Ward was about to issue orders to his men, one of the officers' under Lieutenant Lacroix charge attempted to step out from cover and return fire.

A grave mistake he'd pay for.

Dearly.

Before the young cop could even bring his pistol to bear on the enemy he was on the ground, his armor smoldering from superheated plasma. "Shit! Man down!" Lacroix barked grimly. Jon frowned and pointed to Petty Officer Third Class Bradley Cooper, Charlie Six's corpsman. "Go get him on my mark!"

Cooper nodded solemnly, his face invisible behind the opaque visor of his helmet. "Team, Lead, everyone toss frags and lay down suppressing fire! Cover Two as he retrieves the casualty!"

Five acknowledgment lights blinked to existence on his Heads Up Display. He nodded to himself in affirmation and reached for his bandolier, ripping an M9 HE-DP fragmentation grenade from it. He pressed his thumb on the primer and prepared to throw it. Counting down from three in his head, he hit the primer, shouting "frag out" as he tossed it as far as he could towards the Covenant position. Five more frags came in its wake followed by bright, thundering explosions mixed with the screams and shrieks of dying Covenant.

"Mark!" the Staff Sergeant exclaimed as he stood up from behind the barrier and squeezed the trigger, releasing a barrage of 7.62mm fire upon the enemy. The others, including the Pearl Police officers, joined him with their own weapons—forcing the Covenant not killed by the grenades that went off into cover—while Cooper bolted towards the downed cop full tilt.

As soon as the corpsman reached the man, he wrapped his hands under his armpits and dragged him behind a barrier next to Lieutenant Lacroix. While Cooper checked on the wounded officer, Ward decided it was time to get the gate closed while the ODSTs and cops still had the advantage. "Cover me!" Jon barked over the roar of weapons fire. He instantly sprinted towards the control console as fast as his legs could carry him. Bolts of plasma smashed into the concrete underneath his feet, only serving to motivate him more to get to the gate controls.

As soon as he reached them and out of the line of fire, he held his assault rifle off to the side with one hand and punched in the commands to close the gate with his other. Machinery _wirred _and creaked in response as the one and a half inch thick wall of titanium extended from the wall. The Covenant let loose one final barrage of fire upon the PPD road block before the massive door shut and sealed, cutting them off. Jon backed away from the console and exhaled a relieved sigh as he cast a glance over at the road block. The cops manning the position looked weary and fatigued, but it looked as if no one else was injured.

With that in mind, Jon crossed the distance between him and his corpsman to check on Lacroix's casualty. "Coop, status?"

Coop stood up and glanced over his shoulder at the Staff Sergeant. "He's dead, mate," he said grimly with a distinct Australian accent. "He suffered third and fourth degree burns all over and had gone into shock by the time I'd gotten to 'im."

"_Damn it all,_" cursed Lacroix with an accent Ward couldn't quite place. "Constable Jones had a fam'ly."

Ward frowned behind his visor. _He _had a family too and couldn't imagine how devastated they'd be if he were to be killed battling the Covenant. It was moments like these that helped him remember why he hated this war. No one had asked for it; no one had _wanted _it. But, for some God awful reason the Covenant didn't care. They saw humanity as an affront to their gods and they would see every last one exterminated from the face of the galaxy. How many men and women like Constable Jones had lost their lives to their genocidal campaign? How many more were going to die?

_A lot more if we don't end it soon, _Jonathan thought grimly. "I'm sorry for your loss, Lieutenant. Truly. But, right now we need to-"

The Staff Sergeant was cut off by the crackle of the radio in his ears. He held up his free hand as a gesture to wait while he listened to the incoming transmission. _"CP to Charlie Six, come in, Charlie Six." _The gruff voice of Master Sergeant Terry Childers droned in his ear.

"Charlie Six here, go ahead."

"_Be advised: you have new orders. Standby." _

"Standing by," he replied, his voice monotone.

While he waited, Jon thought he heard the rumble of Warthog engines off in the distance. He glanced in the direction that the sound was coming from and spotted the bright white luminescence of headlights coming down one of the adjacent streets towards them. He instinctively furrowed his brow in curiosity.

"_Charlie Six, your orders are to proceed into Residential District Echo and head to Apartment Complex Two-One Bravo," _the Master Sergeant stated. _"We have dope on a handful of civvies that refused to evacuate to a shelter need rescuing. You should be receiving a NAV marker to their location shortly. Recover and escort the civvies to a convoy of Marines halted at the on-ramp to Diamond Freeway. They'll transport them back to the Green Zone. How copy?"_

"Solid copy; Interrogative: what about the cops manning this position?"

"_An Army platoon, callsign Hammer Three, should be arriving at your twenty now to relieve you," _answered Childers.

As if on cue a line of Warthogs came into view, filling up the roundabout behind the road block rather quickly before coming to a stop. Jon smirked and nodded his head at no one in particular. "Roger," he said quietly, "Orders received and acknowledged. We're oscar mike now. Out." With that, he cut the connection and turned to face the police lieutenant.

"We just received orders to head out into the next district to save some civvies," he explained, extending his hand to Lacroix. "It's been a pleasure working with you. The Army'll take it from here."

Lacroix nodded and took his hand, giving it a firm shake. "The pleasure's all mine, Troopa. Good luck an' stay safe."

The Staff Sergeant nodded curtly and set the frequency to SQUADCOM. He clicked the mike and spoke into the piece. "Team, this is Lead, we have new orders. The dogs pulling up are going to relieve us. We're headed into the Residential District to rescue some civvies holed up in Apartment 21-B. Anything you wanna say before we head out?"

"_Yeah. I shoulda got Mercedes' number," _chimed MacDoyle.

Jonathan chuckled and shook his head. Then he cut the connection and started towards the gate controls as the soldiers of Hammer Three exited their vehicles and began to take up positions at the road block. With all the extra fire power he wasn't too concerned about the Covenant lance that was likely still on the other side of the massive titanium door. As soon as he reached the controls he punched the command in to open the gate.

As the door regressed into the wall to admit them into the Residential District, the alien warble of an Elite sounded—and forty-plus soldiers alongside the cops opened up on the Covenant. The firefight was over before the gate had disappeared, and the street beyond was coated in alien blood and bullet holes. Jon grinned evilly. _That was payback for killing Jones, _he mused.

He waved his squad forward and marched to the other side of the gate. He stopped for a moment to take in his surroundings. The narrow street extended in front of him for thirty meters with a t-intersection at the end of the thirty meters. A row of street lights ran along the length of the road at mathematical intervals, providing bright yellow luminescence within the scope of their boundaries. Everything in between and behind the lights was cast in shadows. _Good. That'll make stealth a lot easier. _

He waved his squad forward and ordered them to proceed in a staggered formation. Six Helljumpers advanced on either side of the road, with the Staff Sergeant on point, clinging to the edge of the road in case they needed to duck into the shadows. They moved slowly and cautiously, their weapons not quite up to bear, but at the ready nonetheless. So far there was no sign of activity. Ward wasn't sure what to make of that.

As the ODSTs approached the intersection, Ward brought his fist up, signaling his men to halt. He carefully slinked his way along the wall of the building at the corner of the intersection and carefully leaned out from the corner. He scanned the area ahead only for his eyes to fall upon a group of Covenant roughly halfway down headed there way. Mumbling an expletive under his breath, he retreated around the corner and cast a look at his men, who were staring at him expectantly behind polarized visors.

"Team, contact," he whispered into the mike. "Covenant patrol, eight tangos, headed directly for us. Hide in the shadows and wait for them to round the corner. Then light 'em up and standby for further orders."

He didn't wait for their acknowledgments. Quickly maneuvering into the deepest part of the shadowed sidewalk, he dropped down to one knee and aimed his rifle at the edge of the corner. He'd wait until the last Covie rounded it before pulling the trigger. Deciding to make use of what little time they had until the patrol reached them, Ward blinked at the light bulb icon on his Heads Up Display, activating his Visual Intelligence System/Reconnaissance, or VISR, and watched as his vision settings shifted. Walls and buildings were outlined in blue, friendlies in green, and the enemy in _red_. Everything else appeared to him as a dull green hue.

When the first tango emerged from around the corner, a Grunt, the VISR immediately tagged him in a red outline. One-by-one the members of the Covenant patrol emerged, with a Major Domo Elite—identified by its maroon armor—bringing up the rear. Jon brought his finger to the trigger and squeezed. The ambush lasted no more than fifteen seconds as six weapons burped a hailstorm of lead towards the unsuspecting aliens. The last to fall was the Elite, whom stood frozen in a state of shock before falling to a burst from Ward's assault rifle in a purple-blooded heap.

Lowering the still smoking barrel of his MA5B to aim harmlessly at the ground, Ward blinked at the map icon on his VISR. Instantly the street before him was replaced by a digital satellite overview of the district they were in. His position and that of his team was marked with a blinking grey triangle while their destination was marked by a green square and a readout of the distance in meters. According to the map they were seven city blocks from where they needed to be. He scrolled through the map and the quickest and safest route to the civilians.

He then closed the map and spoke to his team over comms. "Alright, we're going to cross the road to the other side and maneuver through a network of alleys towards the NAV marker. Myself, One and Three will cross first," he said, receiving acknowledgments from Corporal Thomas and Lance Corporal Wilson. "The rest of you will cross when we're on the other side."

Jon depressed the 'talk' button and approached the corner again. He performed a quick scan of the road to make sure no more Covenant were approaching, then booked it to the other side with his weapon at the ready. Once he reached the other side he aimed down the road the patrol had come from with his finger resting on the trigger. Once he felt the taps on his shoulder from Thom and Willie, indicating they'd cross, he keyed the mike again. "Set. _Move._"

The pitter patter of feet pounding on concrete resounded in his ears followed by a trio of light pats on his left shoulder to let him know the others had crossed successfully. Jon lowered his rifle and quickly crept his way up to the front, stepping into formation behind Thomas, then lightly tapped him on the shoulder to communicate that he had point. The Helljumper nodded and brought his weapon to bear before moving forward. The squad slinked along the wall to the entrance to the alley. Thomas pivoted into the alley and the rest of the team followed suite.

As the six troopers stealthily crept through the dark, narrow alley that stretched for several meters before branching off in different directions, Ward contemplated all that had happened in the last few hours since the beginning of the invasion.

The drive to Camp Frasier from the Seaside District had been _hell. _Aside from having to constantly swerve to avoid cars and frantic pedestrians, they had to continually avoid becoming a target for the Covenant air patrols that were wreaking havoc all over the city. After over a dozen detours and a lengthy run on the freeway to the Government District, the five ODSTs had arrived at the base. When they pulled into the parking lot of the Frasier's HQ building, they ran into Cooper who was waiting for them outside.

Ward led his team inside and he met up with Captain Schruger, the commanding officer of Charlie Company. He briefed them on the situation. The Covenant had arrived in-system thirty minutes prior to the attack and were detected by a deep space monitoring station. The station was destroyed and the Covenant made an in-system slipspace jump to Crystal. The Navy immediately responded and engaged them, but the bastards managed to deploy aerial forces planet-side to begin softening things up prior to ground forces being dispatched. Roughly an hour after Charlie Six had regrouped at Camp Frasier did the first drop-ships full of Covenant troops begin landing.

Ward's team had been dispatched to the road block they had just left to reinforce the local police unit. For awhile everything had been peaceful and quiet… or, relatively peaceful, anyway. The gunfire, explosions, and death throes of humans and aliens alike had been disconcerting. Then, the Covenant lance they'd just dealt with showed up. _And a good man lost his life, _Ward thought angrily.

As the team rounded a corner, the warble of Grunt broke his train of thought. Ward raised his fist in the air and moved ahead of Thomas. He approached a corner that led to an adjacent alley and peeked round the bend. Standing in the middle of the alley with its back turned to him was a scarlet armored Grunt with a bandolier wrapped around its chest wielding a Needler. He craned his head towards his men and communicated silently that he spotted contact and for them to cover him.

Carefully, Jon started to creep his way towards the stubby alien, keeping one foot in front of the other. Slowly he retrieved his combat knife from the sheath on the side of his armored chest plate. He extended his non-knife hand in front of him in preparation to grab the bastard. It was totally clueless as to what was about to become of it. When he was less than a few inches behind it, he grabbed the Grunt by its shoulder and spun it around in one swift motion, then drove the blade of the knife into its skull between its eyes.

It hadn't even had time to make a noise.

Jon tore the knife from its skull as bright blue blood began to gush from the slit between its eyes and its body sprawled to the floor. He grinned evilly and returned the weapon to its sheath, then unslung his MA5B from its resting place on the magnetic back plate of his armor. Then he motioned for his men to fall in on him and continued moving.

It took Charlie Six several minutes of carefully crossing streets and traversing the maze of alleys before reaching the road that crossed in front of their destination. The Staff Sergeant stepped out onto the street beyond and was met with a sight of abrupt abandonment. Cars were stopped in their lanes—a few still running—with their doors wide open. Signs of battle were abound with scorch marks and bullet impacts marked all over the topography of the street. A few of the street lights were either out or flickering, with one at the far end emitting sparks from a broken bulb. The NAV marker for the apartment building where they'd find the civilians was fifteen meters away on their right.

The Helljumpers pushed forward in silence as they approached the building. When they reached the front entrance to the complex, the group stacked up along the wall and awaited the go ahead to breach. Ward nodded and stepped through the threshold of the door, breaking right as he cleared the corner closest to him before sweeping his rifle towards the center of the room.

They found themselves in a lobby that had the same air of abandonment as the street outside. It was eerie and disconcerting in Ward's opinion. He absentmindedly checked his map which brought up a floor plan for the building. The marker to their objective was on the second floor. Jon glanced at the doors to the elevator at the far end of the lobby and considered using it—but thought better of it—and instead led his team through a door that led to a room that acted as a buffer before reaching the stairwell that would take them to the upper floors.

The team traveled their way up the stairs to the second floor and pushed their way through the door. They were met with a hallway that stretched several meters before cutting to the left into another stretch of corridor. Doors into individual apartments were on either side of the corridor. The Staff Sergeant glanced at the door closest to him on the left that read '1-B'. He nodded and followed the corridor before cutting into the adjacent corridor. He followed that one until he reached his destination. Apartment 21-B. The grizzled ODST leader lowered his weapon and rapped his knuckles against the door three times.

Suddenly, it flew open and he felt someone grab him firmly by the shoulders. He was then yanked off his feet and slammed into a wall with enough force to wind him. His vision blurred and he coughed as he struggled to catch his breath. When his vision finally started to focus, he was met with a terrifying sight.

He was staring directly down the barrel of a pistol.


	3. Hard Slog

**HALO: HELLJUMPER**

**By M. Cartwright**

**A/N: This chapter was a little longer than I had expected it to be. It took me awhile to write it and I had considered rewriting it and cutting it down in length, but I decided against it. The total word count for the chapter was at, I believe, four thousand seven hundred some odd words. I've always been told anything above four thousands pushin' it, but I'll leave you to be the judge. **

**On the bright side, I'm happy to say I'm starting to get my groove back for writing out the combat scenes. I haven't perfected the craft, yet, but I'm getting there. Anyway, enjoy the chapter and please gimme your feed back.**

* * *

**CHAPTER III: HARD SLOG**

**2736 Hours Local Time, July 5****th****, 2550 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \  
****Apartment 21-B, Brighton Apartments, Residential District A, Pearl City,  
****Planet Crystal**

Staff Sergeant Jonathan Ward stood frozen in place as he was held up against a wall at gun point. He instinctively raised his hands in the air which only succeeded in causing his aggressor to strengthen the grip he had upon his shoulder. Jonathan wondered if the man realized there were weapons pointed at him. Or did he even care? Regardless, it was obvious he wasn't lowering his weapon. In fact, he had pressed against his visor now. If he pulled the trigger, Ward would surely be a goner.

And, needless to say, he was hoping that wouldn't be what happened.

"Who're you?!" the man barked with a gruff tone.

"Staff Sergeant Ward," he answered, keeping his voice calm and level. "Helljumper."

"They've come to kill us!" came the voice of another man, sounding much younger.

The man holding the gun seemed inclined to believe it. He somehow managed to tighten his grip even _further_. "Is that why you're here, fascist?!"

_Fascist? _Oh, no.

They were dealing with a bunch of Innies.

"No," Ward replied, continuing to speak calmly. "We were told there were civilians holed up in this apartment. We've been ordered to escort you to a convoy waiting at the freeway to evacuate you out of here."

Jon caught movement out of his peripheral to his left. He could just barely see the IFF tag of one of his men. Thomas. "Why don't you lower your weapon, sir," he said. It was an order disguised as a question. The Innie's eyes looked away from him for a moment while he contemplated what the Staff Sergeant had told him. A second later, he asked, "If I let you go… you won't kill us?"

Ward shook his head.

"Okay then." The man lowered his weapon and released the Staff Sergeant. Ward stretched and popped his shoulder before turning his attention deeper into the apartment. There were four people in total excluding the man with the handgun. Two women, a small, lanky man, and a boy who looked no older than fourteen with long greasy black hair. To Ward's surprise all of them except the kid were armed; two wielding pistols like the lovely fellow he had just met and the other with a shotgun. Innies or not, he had to give them credit. They were fairly well armed by civilian standards.

"So, who're all of you?" Jon asked to break the lingering tension.

The man who had shoved him against the wall spoke up. "I'm Matthew. The blonde woman with the shotgun is my wife Lucile, the other girl is our friend Madison, and the other two are Ronan and his son Xavier."

Ward nodded at him curtly. Matthew stood at about five foot eight. He was stocky; not exactly overweight but he wasn't built either. He had a scruffy looking beard, thick eyebrows, and a matte of dull red hair. And judging by what he'd managed to do early, he was fairly strong. His wife, on the flipside, was slim and rather attractive. She had short blonde hair and piercing hazel eyes. She wore a low cut shirt exposing pale cleavage and a dark pair of skintight jeans.

Madison, on the other hand, was more heavyset and had shoulder length curly brown hair that was up in a pony tail. She had on a black t-shirt and a pair of matching slacks with pistol magazines stuffed in the pockets. A crucifix hung from her neck over her shirt and her arms were covered in body art. She stood beside Ronan, leaning up against him.

Xavier, the kid, had short cropped black hair and emerald green eyes. He was small and lanky. It didn't look like he could hold the pistol in his hand that well. Like Madison, he had pistol clips stuffed down in his pockets and the first thing Ward noticed was that his pistol was set to safe. _He doesn't even know how to use a weapon_, he concluded with a sigh. _He'll have to learn quick. _

The Staff Sergeant keyed the comms, raising the Charlie Company Command Post. "CP, this is Charlie Six. Be advised: we've found the civvies and we're oscar mike to the pick-up zone. Over."

"_Roger, Charlie Six, carry on. Out."_

Ward cast a look at Matthew. "Before we move out I have a question," he said. "Are you guys' rebels?"

Matthew shook his head. "No, but we have no love for the UNSC. We support what the Insurrection stands for."

"Innie _sympathizers, _greeeaaat," commented Thom.

Matthew whipped around to face Thomas in the blink of an eye. "At least the Innies are trying to win independence instead of kowtowing to a government that has declared _martial law!_"

Jon could see where this was going. If he didn't put an end to it now then it was going to get ugly. _Real ugly. _"Enough," he growled, stepping between Matthew and the ODSTs. "We don't have time to argue over politics and who's in the wrong. We need to get you guys out of here."

"How do we know we won't be arrested when we get to where we're going?" Xavier asked with a hint of malice in his tone.

The Staff Sergeant sighed. "Right now the UNSC has bigger things to worry about than a bunch of Innie sympathizers. Now, you can stay here and take your chances with the Covenant, or, you can come with us and have a fighting chance of living to see another day."

Matthew leaned against the wall and appeared to be pondering over something. Likely trying to make a decision; weighing the pluses and the minuses of either option. After a few moments of uneasy silence, Matthew pushed himself from off the wall and nodded. "We'll follow you."

"Good choice," Ward muttered, and then turned to face his men. "Mac, take point and get us out of here. Matthew, you and your group stick close to us. Owen, you've got rear security. Now let's move out!"

With that, the ODSTs of Charlie Six, with the civilians in tow, made their way out of the room and into the corridor beyond. They maneuvered cautiously down the deserted, dimly lit hallway in silence, weapons at the ready in case anything was to pop out at them. As they rounded the corner and neared the entrance to the stairwell, Jon thought he heard decidedly alien voices echoing from it. He habitually tightened his grip on his assault rifle and moved a tad bit more cautiously. It was apparent the others were hearing it as well, as an air of tenseness settled about the group.

As they came within a few inches of the door, Ward motioned for his men to halt. He carefully stepped out of formation and approached the door, gesturing for MacDoyle to follow closely behind. As the door slid away to admit them into the stairwell, the pair flowed into the tight quarters and glanced over the railing to the floor below. There wasn't any sign of life that either of them could see, but the voices were less distorted now, and decidedly belonged to a couple of Grunts and an Elite. Likely the latter barking orders to the former in an attempt to force them to exercise noise discipline.

Though, it didn't matter. They'd already heard them.

Slowly, step-by-step, Ward descended the stairwell to the first floor and positioned himself by the door. He felt the weight of Mac's hand on his shoulder as the two prepared to breach the door into the lounge that came before the lobby. Surprisingly, the door hadn't opened to their presence, giving them the element of surprise. Jon groped for one of his grenades and yanked it from the bandolier, setting his rifle down beside the hatch. "One, Two, and Five, head down the stairs and prepare to engage hostiles. Three, stay with the civvies." Acknowledgment lights blinked and Ward's eyes picked up the faint footfalls of Thomas, Cooper, and Owen making their way down to them.

The Staff Sergeant waved his hand in front of the door, causing the sensor situated above it to pick up the movement, and it receded into the wall. Immediately silence fell upon the lounge as the Covenant inside stared at the door cautiously and with interest. He heard the uneven footfalls of a Grunt heading towards the open hatch. Its penguin-like gait would ultimately be its undoing. You simply couldn't be stealthy with a walk like that. Before the dog-like midget could make it through the threshold of the door, Jon slammed his thumb on the primer and chucked the grenade towards the center of the room on the other side.

Startled cries followed by the roar of an explosion filled his ears, dulled by his helmet's audio dampeners, and he stepped through the doorframe and kicked the frightened alien away from the hatch—a two-round burst to the face to end its troubles. Reacting quickly before the rest of the Covenant troops in the room could regain their composure; he laid down withering fire and ducked behind a couch. The four other members of the assault team darted into the room and sought protection from the enemy's weapons as well.

And the firefight began.

The Elite in charge was the first to recover, his shields having sustained the brunt of the shrapnel that had ricocheted through the room. It opened up with its plasma rifle, its shots going wide as it retreated into the lobby. The three remaining Grunts added their fire into the mix and effectively had the team pinned behind what little cover they could find. Ward patiently waited until the Grunts had shifted their fire towards the others, then leaned out and sprayed the lead one with lead. It collapsed in a bloody heat, causing its companions to shriek in fear and retreat into the lobby with their commander.

As the others began to move up to the door to the lobby, Ward flitted his eyes to the map icon and brought up the building schematics. According to it, there was a secondary stairwell on the opposite side of the structure that could be reached via the second floor. An idea quickly forming in his head, he hit the 'talk' button on his radio. "Keep up the pressure gents," he said sternly, standing up and starting for the door to the stairs. "I'm gonna flank 'em!"

Bolting through the threshold and pounding up the stairs, Ward re-entered the second floor hallway and rushed past the civilians guarded Wilson without so much as acknowledging their existence. He rounded the corner and continued on his way. When he reached the stairwell, he stormed down the steps and found himself walking into a rec room for the complex's employees. He swiftly made his way to the door and peered into the lobby.

He found that he was a few feet behind the Elite Minor heading the lance, which was crouched down awkwardly behind the front desk. Its subordinates were behind whatever sparse hard points they could find and were keeping a steady stream of fire on the door to the lounge. Jon exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, then stepped into the doorframe and quietly moved closer to the Elite, being careful not to make any kind of noise that would give him away.

Despite his effort to remain undetected, however, he quickly learned it had been in vain. With a guttural growl of uncontrolled rage, the Elite whipped around and sucker punched him in the side of the helmet. Jon fell back, crashing into the wall behind him, and he realized that the blow had partially cracked his visor. The eight-foot tall closed the gap between them and threw another punch. The Staff Sergeant ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow, and aimed a swift punch to the alien's gut.

It had little effect. It chuckled maniacally and elbowed him in the side of the head. The force of the blow was enough to knock him onto the ground, face first. He rolled over just in time to avoid the heavily armored hoof belonging to the Elite bearing down on him. Tearing his M6S from its place at his side, he flipped the safety off and rapidly squeezed the trigger. Its shield flared, deflecting the bullets, and the armored behemoth stepped towards him defiantly. He felt its fingers wrap around his neck, and with a tight squeeze, lifted him off his feet.

He lost his grip of the pistol. It fell to the floor with a metallic _thud _and he slapped at the alien's arms, trying to free himself from its vice grip as he struggled to breath. The alien laughed in amusement at him.

_That _did it. He could tolerate a lot of things from an alien. Being shot, beaten and thrown around like a ragdoll—_hell, _he could even tolerate having the life squeezed out of him—but the one thing he could not, _no_, _would not tolerate_, was being mocked and laughed at.

With a newfound motivation, Ward tucked his legs against his chest and dealt a devastating kick to the alien's chest. It released him, allowing him to the fall to the floor and recovered his sidearm, as the alien recoiled from the blow and heaved in an attempt to catch its breath. Jon zeroed in on the Elite's helmeted head and repeatedly pulled the trigger. The weapon bucked from the recoil as it spat out 12.7x40mm M228 Semi-Armored-Piercing High-Penetration magnum rounds. The Elite's shields blocked the first couple of shots before it failed, leaving it exposed to remaining swarm of bullets. The first bullet severed one of its mandibles and exploded out of the back of its skull, sending a spray of gore onto the wall behind it. The rest of the rounds smashed into different parts of the alien's face, reducing it to a bloody pulp, and the once mighty Elite slumped against the wall lifelessly.

The Staff Sergeant picked himself up off the floor and approached the corpse with his still-smoking sidearm at his side. He gave its body a swift kicked and remarked, "Try laughing now, asshole."

Ward turned cast a look towards the other half of the room and realized the three Grunts were now bullet ridden corpses gushing florescent blood. Corporal Thomas and the rest of the assault team flooded into the room and instantly spotted the Elite on grotesque display against the wall. Though he couldn't see it behind his polarized visor, he was sure there was a flicker of a smirk on Thomas's face. "All clear, Staff Sergeant," he announced with an air of finality.

The team leader nodded and ordered Wilson to bring the civvies down. A minute later the team was fully assembled in the lobby with the civilians standing off to the side. Ward momentarily checked the map to get his bearings on how long of a journey they had to their destination. According to it, they were in for a hard slog. Especially if the streets were crawling with Covenant.

Gesturing for the others to follow, he made his way out of the building and onto the road beyond. After checking for any signs of Covenant troops in the area, he hung a right and started down the road towards the NAV marker.

Most of the journey was made in silence. The six ODSTs and five non-combatants marched in the envelope of the shadows along the edge of the streets. They took several detours through alleyways and side streets as the distance to the NAV maker ticked away. So far they had been lucky enough to avoid confrontation. Though, a handful of times they had come dangerously close to it. Covenant troops patrolled many of the main roads unhindered and some had hidden away inside buildings for reasons unknown. And in one instance they had to duck into someone's garden as a patrol backed up by light reconnaissance vehicles, Ghosts, passed them by.

With only another block to cross and then a two hundred meter home stretch to the PZ, the team came out onto a narrow side road and carefully moved forward. The Staff Sergeant was just beginning to get the sense that they were being watched when his suspicions were confirmed. _Lethally. _

A purple streak of light zipped mere inches by his head. There was a loud, resounding thud that echoed across the empty street, and he immediately sought cover behind a burned out truck. "Sniper!" he exclaimed as he started to scan the horizon for the shot's source.

"_Lucile!" _Matthew exclaimed frantically.

Ward didn't have time to look and see what had happened. He spotted the sniper, a Jackal standing on the roof of a two-story house, and craned his head towards Wilson. "Three, counter-snipe that bastard! He's to our two o'clock, rooftop of the blue-and-white two-story."

There was a brief pause before the COMM cracked in his ear. "Rule number one," Wilson began as he aligned his shot. There was the deafening report of an S2AM Sniper Rifle and Ward watched as the Jackal's head exploded. Its body sprawled to the ground, becoming some old lady's yard ornament, he imagined. "Never snipe someone from an obvious position if you intend on living to see another day."

After a brief scan of the surrounding buildings for any additional sharpshooters, Ward turned around to see what all the commotion had been about. He immediately wished he hadn't and grimaced. Lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood was Lucile, the shotgun she had been wielding tucked underneath her body, with a penny-sized hole oozing scarlet liquid on the center of her back. The round had torn straight through her.

Kneeling beside her was Matthew. Tears were welled up in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks like a waterfall. He knew it wouldn't be necessary, but he motioned for Cooper to check on her anyway. The corpsman hauled himself over to her and checked her pulse. "She's gone," he muttered grimly. Jon's shoulders slumped and he couldn't help but curse under his breath. Though he knew it wasn't his fault, he felt partially responsible Lucile's death. He glanced over at his men.

They were all looking towards him, unsure of what to do or how to react. He could tell by their body language. Cooper crouched by Matthew's side and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. The Staff Sergeant decided if he was going to feel responsible for it, he needed to comfort the man too. He slowly made his way over to him, confidence no longer in his step, and he knelt down on the side Coop wasn't on. He placed his hand on the grieving adult's shoulder too and gave it a tight squeeze. "I'm… I'm sorry, Matthew."

Matthew sobbed harder and brought his hands to his face, shielding it from view. Ward sighed heavily in exasperation and undid the seals on his helmet. Gently, he lifted his helmet off his head and set it to the side away from the puddle of accumulating blood, running his free hand through his short cropped hair. If Matthew were to look up at him, he would be met with a face that looked older than it should have been. Ward's eyes were sunk in with rings around them from lack of sleep. His expression was soft and of sympathy. He had dark brown eyes and hair, cut into the traditional regulation high-and-tight style. Facial hair was unsurprisingly absent and he had a single narrow scar from his right ear to the bridge of his nose. A gift from an Innie that had been skilled in the use of a blade.

"Why?" Matthew finally asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that Ward hadn't realized had come about. He stared at the sobbing man for a long moment. What was there to say? How could he explain what had just happened? Was he to say that the shot was meant for him and the Jackal simply _missed_? That it had shitty aim and that's why his wife was lying in a pool of her own body fluid?

What could he _possibly _say?

He wasn't sure. But he knew he had to say _something_.

"I don't know," he whispered solemnly. It was the truth. He didn't have a fucking clue why all of this had just happened. "But I do know that your wife loved you. And while I know she wouldn't have wanted things to end this way, I know that she would have wanted you to carry on and live if it did. I'm not saying it's going to be easy. Because it won't. Not for a single goddamned second. But, you have to keep going."

"I… I don't want to leave her."

Jon sighed. "I know. But you have to-"

"I'm not fucking _leaving her_, okay?! Do you understand that, _Jarhead_?!"

Ward let that last remark slide. Matthew was distraught right now and while he was sure the man had little love for him and his men, he also knew that they were his only ticket to getting out of this mess alive. Jonathan turned his attention to Cooper. "Doc, do you have a foldable stretcher?"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant."

"Get it out and put Lucile on it," Ward ordered, and then turned returned his gaze to Matthew. "We'll take her with us. After this is all over you can arrange for her burial. I'll see to it that the UNSC pays for it all." Technically he had no authority to do such a thing. But, it was a small lie that would hopefully motivate the man to keep going until they got out of this. And who knows, maybe he'd actually talk to some people about actually doing it. "However, your wife would want you to survive. Her death'll be in vain if you die too. Cooper and Owen'll carry your wife's body. Okay?"

Matthew slowly nodded his head. Jon smiled weakly at him and motioned for Cooper and Owen to load his wife's body up on a stretcher. The corpsman retrieved the device from his rucksack and folded it out. Owen sprinted over and helped the Australian medic lift her corpse up and onto the stretcher, then aided him in carrying it. Just as Ward was about to stand up and continue on, he froze. He heard the _whoosh _of something soaring through the air just feet from his head and then heard a dull thud followed by something sizzling.

"Grenade!"

Without thinking, reacting completely on impulse, the Staff Sergeant shoved Matthew onto the ground and jumped on top of him—shielding him with his own body—and covered his head with his hands.

The sizzling became louder.

And louder.

_BOOM! _

He felt the heat of the blast wash over him. He felt like his entire back was being pressure cooked inside of his armor. Jon gritted his teeth and rolled over as the heat faded away, the pain still there, however, and brought his weapon to bear. Marching down the road were two lances of Covenant troops backed up by Ghosts, marching down the road from the way they'd come from. _The mechanized patrol, _he concluded as he started to rise to his feet.

Bolts of plasma exploded against the concrete around them. He turned and pulled Matthew to his feet and then ushered him into cover on the opposite side of the car he'd been behind earlier. "Take cover! Return fire!"

The ODSTs obeyed, letting loose with their own weapons. Tracers and streaks of plasma were traded between the two sides. To an observer it would almost be awe-inspiring. Had he not known the deadly intent behind the scene, he would've agreed. Jon snapped his rifle onto the nearest target, firing controlled burst after controlled burst into the crowd of hostiles. He downed a few of them while others sought protection. The report of Wilson's sniper rifle echoed over all the noise—a trail of white followed the bullet to its target—and the upper body of the Grunt operating one of the Ghosts detached itself from the rest of its body.

Ward shifted to his next target: a silver armored Elite wielding a plasma turret. It took six bursts to drop its shields and it snarled in disdain at him, dropping the turret in favor of the energy sword on its belt. It bellowed a mighty battle cry and it charged directly towards him. "Shit!" he exclaimed and fired his rifle some more. But the shots went wide and the Elite kept coming.

_Bang!_ The Elite fell forward with a new orifice in its neck, rolled a couple of times, and then ceased to move anymore. Jon's eyes fell on the still-smoking barrel of Matthew's pistol. He'd taken the shot. He glanced at Ward, his breathing erratic and heavy, and smiled weakly at him.

"Thanks." Was all the Staff Sergeant could think to say. With that, he stared down the sights of his rifle and took aim on another target: a group of Jackals trying to form a phalanx and advance upon them. He held the trigger down and sprayed them with lead. The majority of them fell while one other ducked down behind a bulky metal mailbox, clutching its frail, bleeding arm.

One of his men tossed a grenade at the enemy and it landed in the midst of a group of Grunts led by a Grunt Major. The small aliens didn't even have time to scream. The grenade detonated and send shrapnel, body parts, and blood flying. A chain of secondary explosions occurred as the methane tanks on their backs went up in flames too.

By now all that was left were a handful of aliens and one last Ghost. The Ghost shifted towards Mac and Owen and let loose with its plasma cannons. The two PFCs abandoned their position and scrambled out of the way as the superheated balls of plasma demolished the wooden picket fence they had been behind only moments ago. Wilson's rifle sounded again and the bullet struck one of the gravity stabilizers. The Ghost titled to the left with enough force to throw the Grunt operating clean off—and Ward put it down with a trio of rounds to the chest.

Moments later, the skirmish was over. All went eerily quiet as the everyone held their fire. Ward sighed in relief and reloaded his rifle; ejecting the spent magazine to replace it with a fresh one. Then he ordered everyone to get a move on. The group complied, with Corporal Thomas heading up front.

It took them maybe three minutes to reach the convoy. Sixteen vehicles in row were halted at the edge of the on-ramp onto the freeway. Ward waved his hand and watched as a Marine in full battle rattle with an NCO cover made his way over to them.

"You Charlie Six?"

Ward mumbled something in the way of an affirmative.

"Good," the man said. "I'm First Sergeant Mullen. Have the civvies load up in our Troop 'Hogs. Once they're aboard, if you ain't comin' with, we'll be oscar mike."

The Staff Sergeant nodded. "Aye, First Sergeant." He gestured for the civilians to do as the First Sergeant said and watched as they headed for the vehicles. Matthew stopped for just a moment to shake his hand one last time and thank him, then turned and caught up with the others. Ward smiled and then opened up a channel to the CP. "CP, this is Charlie Six, be advised: mission accomplished. Four civilians and a body are mounted up… we lost one of the civvies to a sniper. How copy?"

He waited for what felt like eternity before the response came.

"_Charlie Six, solid copy. Good work," _Top Childers responded. _"Be advised: Charlie Four and Five believe they've discovered an enemy CP in the Business District on Patterson Avenue. They're currently engaged with the enemy and need assistance. This tasking comes straight from Charlie Actual, son. Get it done."_

The Staff Sergeant groaned and shook his head. They had a long way to walk to get back to the Business District. "Charlie Six copies all. Will raise you when we've linked up with Four and Five. Out."

Ward informed First Sergeant Mullen that his team wasn't coming with them and then turned around. He gathered his team, relayed the CO's orders, and they started on the long hump to their objective.

And he prayed that things wouldn't get worse.


	4. Covenant, Covenant, and More Covenant

**HALO: HELLJUMPER**

**By M. Cartwright**

**CHAPTER IV: COVENANT, COVENANT, AND MORE COVENANT**

**0029 Hours Local Time, July 6****th****, 2550 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \  
****Patterson Avenue, Business District A, Pearl City,  
****Planet Crystal**

**Sergeant Kevin Perkins Perspective**

An explosion resounded as a nearby car went up in flames. Blue and green globules mixed with crystalline needles ripped through the air towards the two squads of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers who were in cover, returning fire. "Keep up the fire!" Sergeant Kevin Perkins commanded as he aligned the sights of his BR55 Battle Rifle onto a Jackal shooting out the window of a four-story structure in front of them. As soon as he had a zero, he worked the trigger and sent a trio of high velocity rounds screaming towards its bird-like head.

It ducked into cover just in time, the rounds impacting harmlessly somewhere deeper in the room. Perkins mumbled a long list of expletives while impatiently waiting for the Jackal to present itself again as a target. A plasma grenade went off nearby, distracting him momentarily, and he immediately regretted it. The Jackal stepped out of cover and took aim with its Covenant Carbine. It fired a couple of shots in his direction and he instantly heard a heavy thud behind him.

He ignored it for the moment and unloaded a staccato of bursts that met their mark. The Jackal's head tore apart satisfyingly and its body disappeared into the room. No longer having to worry about the enemy sharpshooter, he glanced over his shoulder to see what had made the noise. Lying on the ground in a pool of blood was Lance Corporal Mattis, his close quarters combat expert, with a hole in his stomach, chest, and visor. Perkins cursed loudly and returned his attention to the Covenant troops ahead. There was nothing he good do for Mattis now except avenge him.

"Charlie Five to Charlie Four, advise you align your men to the right and set up a base of fire on the left," Perkins called over the radio to Staff Sergeant Reid, Charlie Four's leader. "My men are spread out along the left, firing right."

"_Roger, will do. Out."_

_God, I hope Charlie Six gets here soon, _Perkins thought as he acquired a new target. A quartet of Grunts were making their way across the street towards the entrance to an alley. As far as Perkins could tell that alley would lead the small aliens all the way behind the human line of defense. He wasn't about to allow plasma to be shot up his ass. He quickly practiced snapping his weapon from target-to-target, then squeezed the trigger. Before he even saw the first Grunt go down he was already setting his sights on the next one. And then the next one. And then the last one.

Once the lead Grunt fell, he did a quick scan to make sure he'd dropped the others. With a sadistic grin as he was met with four bullet-ridden corpses, he took a moment to inspect the battlefield in front of him. With a solid base of fire in place, the Covenant were now getting hammered by an unending wall of lead. Bodies of various species' littered the asphalt and the Sergeant watched as one Grunt in particular was reduced to pulp under the combined fire of three ODSTs.

Though, somehow he knew the Covenant weren't going to just lie down and take the beatings. They had to have something being cooked up. The fact that he noticed there weren't as many Elites engaging them as there had been originally lent credence to his theory. They were planning something. He just wished he knew what it was.

Suddenly, he started noticing small numbers in the rear of the Covenant's offensive line pulling back. They rounded a corner onto an adjacent street and disappeared. Then a few more retreated. Then a couple more. Soon all that was left was a few squads of Grunts led by Jackals that had formed a quasi-phalanx in front of them. Sergeant Perkins retrieved a M9 frag grenade from one of the pouches attached to his chest and flung it over the wall of shields. There were surprised squawks from the Jackals and startled cries from the Grunts, who tried in vain to run away.

The resultant explosion engulfed half a dozen aliens in their fiery embrace. Metal fragments rained down on those not caught directly in the blast—the total body count coming up to roughly a dozen. The remaining aliens, without their Jackal overseers, broke formation in every direction in an attempt to flee. This just made them easy targets for the Helljumpers. Within just a few seconds all the Covenant that hadn't retreated fell to the humans' weapons fire and silence fell upon the street.

"_Five, this is Four, you saw that, right?" _Staff Sergeant Reid inquired incredulously.

"Yeah," Perkins replied, staring ahead. "I don't like it."

"_Me neither. Covenant _never _retreat."_

_That _was what had Sergeant Perkins worried. He about faced and approached his men. Three men and one woman; not counting Mattis since he was a smoldering corpse. Kevin sighed heavily and depolarized his visor so his subordinates' could see his face. What they saw was a young man forced to mature beyond his years. Leading a team of ODSTs in a war against a homicidal alliance of aliens forced people to either grow up fast or end up six feet under. He preferred the former to the latter.

"Troopers," he started, his eyes shifting between them, "the Covies have decided to turn tail and run. Now, I'm not an expert, but that's _not normal_." He had to bite his lip not to laugh. That was probably the greatest understatement of the century. "So, I elect we do a little recon. Charlie Six should be on their way over here to help us out and we know the bastards are trying to set up shop in the district. So why don't we mosey on over yonder and see what the bad guys are cookin' up for us?"

"Sounds good to me," Corporal Alyssa Deen said.

"No argument here," Private Jernigan quipped.

With a nod, Kevin accessed the overhead map of his VISR and looked for a good place to set up an observation post. Finding an office building six stories tall, he placed a blue NAV marker and uploaded the data to their HUD's. Then he ordered Jernigan to take point and fell in line behind him. "Four, be advised: we're gonna head to an OP and see what the friendly neighborhood Covenant are up to."

"_Copy."_

After traversing a large alley that led to the backdoor of the office building, the squad stacked up by the door and prepared to enter. Perkins gave the signal with a squeeze of Jernigan's shoulder, and as the door opened, the ODSTs charged inside. The backdoor had brought them into a short, narrow corridor with doors on either side. The hatch closest to them had a sign with stairs on it. Kevin gestured with his finger at the door and Jernigan gave him a thumbs up. They went through the door and once they had confirmed that the immediate area was clear, slowly began to make their way up the stairs to the roof.

Once at the top Perkins noted there was a door to the right that led into the executive offices and an access ladder to the roof directly beside him. He slung his BR over his shoulder and climbed up the ladder. The Sergeant pushed the metal hatch open and pulled himself onto the roof. Then he unslung his rifle and did a quick scan to make sure there were no surprises waiting for them. "Clear," he announced over the SQUADCOM, and the rest of his squad ascended the ladder.

After everyone had successfully climbed their way up to the roof, the five troopers quick-stepped over to the low wall that surrounded the roof and began setting up. Perkins settled his rifle on the wall for support and looked down his scope. Below them was an t-intersection with a long road in front of them that led all the way to a sixteen-story corporate building that the Covenant had decided to occupy. The building seemed more heavily fortified than he remembered.

Purplish-pink barricades had been erected by the broken glass double doors that led to the lobby of the skyscraper. Beyond that and at least a platoon's worth of enemy troops were an array of sniper towers suspended in the air. Surrounding each of them were squads of Covenant, Ghosts, and Wraith tanks. At the front of the enemy's defensive line were the Covenant that had just retreated from the battle with Perkins' and Reid's teams. It looked like they were gathering reinforcements for another push.

"Four, this is Five… the Covenant's been busy."

"_Oh yeah? How's that?"_

Perkins glanced at Corporal Deen. "Keep an eye on 'em while I'm on the radio."

She gave him the OK symbol and then lowered the macrobinoculars equipped to her helmet. He smirked and returned his attention to his conversation with Reid. "The Covenant have fortified the building we thought they were converting into a CP. Now, I think they've retrofitted it into a full blown headquarters. They got troops, vehicles, and snipers all over the place alongside lots and lots of barricades."

"_Jesus Christ," _Reid muttered over the comms. _"Anything else?"_

"Oh yeah," the Sergeant said as if he'd just had another thought. "And the friends we just made are rallying their buddies. Looks like they wanna party."

"_Well, I love parties." _Reid quipped.

Perkins suppressed a laugh and shook his head. "Copy that," he said with a smirk. Just as he was about to cut the connection, another voice suddenly interjected into the conversation. _"Charlie Six to Charlie's Four and Five, check fire. We're on your six."_

* * *

Staff Sergeant Jonathan Ward quickly crossed the open expanse between him and the two squads they'd been ordered to reinforce. He reached the makeshift perimeter the ODSTs had created and watched as Staff Sergeant Nicholas Reid stepped away from a trooper he had just been talking to and approached him.

"Good to see you, Ward."

"Likewise, Reid," he replied, shaking the fellow Helljumper's hand in greeting. "What's the SITREP?"

Reid stepped to the side and gestured to somewhere off in the distance. "Sergeant Perkins and his team are currently manning an OP overlooking the enemy position. We just got out of a firefight with some of the assholes from that area. They fell back and are apparently regrouping for another assault. The Covenant position, however, doesn't look like a CP. Perkins said he thinks it's a full blown HQ."

There was a harmony of muttered profanity from Ward's men at the news. An enemy headquarters in the city was trouble. It needed to be taken out and _fast_. However, if the Covenant had fortified it as well as Reid had suggested, then taking it out was going to be one tall order. By no means would it be easy and if they failed, the consequences would be deadly. Heaving a sigh, Ward nodded his head and contemplated what to do. Obviously a full frontal assault would be suicide and not just because they didn't have the numbers; they didn't have the right _equipment _either.

No, the trick to destroying the enemy's headquarters would be outsmarting the enemy. Finding a weakness in their defenses and exploiting it.

He could only hope that it would be that easy.

"Alright," Ward said finally, coming to a decision. "Stay here and keep sharp. We're going to head over to the OP and see this shit for ourselves. When we have a plan, I'll let you know."

Reid nodded and walked off back to his squad. Ward patched his VISR into Perkins's and followed the NAV marker to the observation post, the rest of Charlie Six in tow behind him. Once they'd traveled down the alley, through the building, and reached the roof, Ward walked up beside Sergeant Perkins and looked out towards the enemy HQ. Just as Reid had said, the Covenant had been busy. Sniper towers, Wraiths, Ghosts, ground troops, and drop-ships swooping in to drop off more. Soon there'd been a whole army of aliens down there.

But, one thing Ward happened to notice was the apparent lack of anti-aircraft weapons and vehicles by the HQ. It looked as if the Covenant expected the enemy to attack the headquarters from the ground more so than the air. Perhaps they thought that they were in control of the skies. This wasn't far off from the truth. Covenant Banshees had been hard at work to keep the UNSC's aircraft out of the area. He'd seen plenty of Banshees flying around while on the way here.

However, a handful of jets could probably sneak into the airspace undetected just long enough to execute a precision strike. It would have to be timed just perfectly or the Covenant would have Banshees on the pilots in seconds. An asset such as a headquarters is something no enemy will willingly give up without a fight. But, the only other option would be to try and assault the damn thing on foot. And that would require more troops than they had. Likely the entire company.

"You look like you have a plan, Staff Sergeant," Sergeant Perkins observed, a toothy grin creasing his features.

"I just might."

Before the sergeant could say anything more, Ward switched his radio to the company command frequency and pressed the 'talk' key on his handset. "Charlie Six to CP, be advised: I have eyes on Covenant forces establishing a headquarters on Half Mile Road. Position is heavily fortified with tanks, light vehicles, and well over a company's worth of infantry. Break."

He paused and looked out one more time to see if there was anything else worth noting.

There wasn't.

"Interrogative: requesting CAS strike on Al-Julani Mining Corporation headquarters. Transmitting coordinates now, over."

He waited for what felt like an eternity for a response. While he waited he unconsciously started to tap his fingers on the concrete partition in impatience. Sergeant Perkins glanced at him curiously but said nothing of it. For that, the Staff Sergeant was grateful.

"_Charlie Six, roger," _rang Captain Schruger's, Charlie Company's commander, in his ear. _"Be advised: we've passed your request for air support to battalion. Standby."_

Ward faced about and sat down, resting his back against the partition. He popped the seals on his helmet and took it off, placing it beside him. A wave of fresh, cool air caressed his cheek and he sighed. If their request for air support was approved by battalion and they managed to get a few fighters to take out the headquarters, there would still be the issue of the ground forces. How they were going to handle that problem, he hadn't a clue.

Sergeant Perkins looked down at him and chuckled. "Long night?"

"Yeah," was all Ward could think to say.

"So… I've been thinking."

Jon looked up at him with a blank stare. "Go on."

Perkins nodded and let go of his rifle. He knelt down beside the Staff Sergeant and took off his own helmet. Kevin Perkins was a fairly handsome man with light brown hair trimmed into a fade style cut and dark green eyes that looked unfocused. When he looked at Ward, it was as if he was looking through him; the famous thousand yard stare in action. Jon smiled weakly at him. A lot of people had acquired that look because of the war. Some further gone than the young sergeant. Personally, Ward was surprised he didn't have the same look.

He'd been through a lot.

"Even if we get some flyboys to come in and save the day, we're still gonna be left with a metric shit ton of baddies wanting to vaporize our faces." Ward nodded with a chuckle. He wouldn't have said it like that—but what Perkins said was true nonetheless. "So, the question then becomes: what do we do with those trigger happy Covies out there? And, through a stroke of genius, I think I have an idea."

Ward furrowed his brow and leaned forward a little; his curiosity piqued.

"What I'm thinking is we set up sharpshooters on this building and the two in front of us on either side of the road," he explained, gesturing to the two buildings up ahead that Ward couldn't see. "Then we send our three teams down the adjacent roads. They approach each intersection—each defensive line—and engage the Covenant troops there while the sharpshooters ice the enemy's snipers and heavy hitters. We don't begin our assault until the flyboys come in and start hitting the HQ building with everything they got. Hopefully, this'll keep the enemy dazed and confused enough that they won't be able to organize and spank our happy asses into oblivion."

The Staff Sergeant thought about the idea for a few minutes in silence. It wasn't perfect, by any stretch, but it might have been crazy enough to work. If their request was approved and the fighters swooped in and started hitting the HQ, that would cause a great deal of confusion and chaos among the ranks of the Covenant ground troops. A simultaneous attack would only add to it.

They wouldn't be able to keep that up for long, though. But, if they were able to put even a fraction of a dent in the Covenant's numbers, then the plan would be a success. And, though he didn't like to admit it, he had no other ideas to toss onto the metaphorical table. "I like it." Ward stated. Perkins smiled widened, if that was even possible, and he stood up.

"Great, I'll tell the others the plan," he said, and then with that, he walked off without another word.

Ward stood up and took one last look out towards the enemy.

They had a lot of aliens to kill.


	5. Spooks Don't Exist

**HALO: HELLJUMPER**

**By M. Cartwright**

**CHAPTER V: SPOOKS DON'T EXIST**

**0112 Hours Local Time, July 6****th****, 2550 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \  
****Observation Post **_**Angel **_**overlooking Half Mile Rd, Business District A,  
****Pearl City, Crystal**

Ward leaned against the concrete partition along the roof of the building now designated as "OP _Angel_," staring down the optics of a spotter scope. Lance Corporal Wilson stood holding his rifle, the bi-pod deployed, as the pair watched the now-battalion size Covenant force went about their business unaware of the chaos that was about to ensue. Captain Schruger had informed them that battalion had processed their request for air support and granted it. Six Longsword fighters were on their way to unleash hell upon the Al-Julani Mining Corporation headquarters, repurposed by the Covenant as the center for command and control of the ground invasion within Pearl City.

However, the Longsword flight wouldn't be on station for another ten minutes. So, until that time, an AC-220 Vulture Gunship was currently circling the airspace right under the Covenant's noses. Ward had informed the Vulture—callsign "Thunderclaw"—of their plans and they were standing by until the ambush teams were in position and ready to initiate their assault. Thunderclaw would then rain down a hailstorm of fire on top of the Covenant while the Helljumpers engaged in with hit-and-run tactics. _Guerrilla warfare at its finest, _he mused with an evil grin.

"Lots of tangos down there, Staff Sergeant," Wilson pointed out, sounding unsure that the plan was going to work.

Ward nodded even though Wilson wasn't paying attention. "That's why we have to be quick and precise about all of this. We hit their lines, demolish them, and disappear before they know what's happening. We aren't trying to take _them all out_; just enough to make them realize that picking a fight with humanity is a deadly proposition."

Wilson scoffed. "That's a lesson I don't think they'll ever learn."

"Then we'll keep on teaching it to them."

"_Thunderclaw to Charlie Six, interrogative: are your teams in position?" _

Ward opened his map. All three teams had linked with his VISR so that he could track their movement. Charlie Four and Five were on either side of the first intersection, while his men had split up to reinforce both squads with added manpower. He set up an open channel with the sniper teams and spoke into the mike. "Sniper teams, report."

"_Team One, this is Team Two, we're set with targets acquired," _reported Sergeant Perkins, who was spotting for Corporal Deen.

"_Team Three here, we're good to go," _Staff Sergeant Reid said. He was spotting for Private First Class Hollinger.

Ward patched Thunderclaw into the open channel. "Thunderclaw, Charlie Six Actual, all forces good to go; standby for mark. Over."

Jonathan looked through the scope and zoomed in on a Jackal sniper at the second line of defense. It was likely that the other two teams had the snipers at the first line pegged. He checked the wind meter. The wind at that distance was headed from east to west. That meant that the majority of the wind was blocked by the buildings. He grinned. That would make target acquisition a lot easier for Wilson.

"Target: Jackal on sniper tower, second line of defense, range one-five-zero," Ward droned, watching out of his peripheral as Wilson zeroed in on the target.

"Windage?"

"Coming in at five miles per hour from east to west," Ward stated. "The buildings are blocking most of it. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Ready to fire."

Ward nodded and, out of nervous habit, checked his map one more time to make sure everyone was in place and ready. Satisfied that they were, he clicked the COMM and gave the order. The thundering _crack _of Wilson's sniper rifle followed by an explosion of visceral gore out of the Jackal's chest was the response to his order. Two more reports of sniper rifles resounded and two more Jackals fell. Then the air filled with the thundering roar of the Thunderclaw's guns followed by Covenant troops being eviscerated where they stood.

Then the two ambush teams initiated their assault, mopping up whatever Thunderclaw missed. Through the zoom on his scope he could see the looks of confusion and terror on the Covenant's faces—and their Elite oversees tried in vain to regain control of their men. Once the first line of defense had been obliterated, the two teams retreated back to the adjacent streets and moved forward, heading for the second line. Ward gave Wilson target dope on an Elite Ultra barking orders to his troops, trying to organize his men before the assault reached them.

Wilson's rifle spat out a high-powered, high-velocity round and the Elite's orders were cut off mid-sentence. His subordinates ran in terror, searching for whatever cover they could find. The echo of Team Two and Three's rifles told him the bastards weren't having much luck with that. When the assault teams had reached the line, Thunderclaw let loose with his cannons, pulverizing large numbers of the Covenant before the teams could even start firing.

Ward caught movement in the upper left corner of his scope. He readjusted and zoomed in, only to widen his eyes in horror. One of the six Wraith tanks that had, so far, remained stationary and unfazed by the destruction and chaos in front of it… started moving forward. Its cannon aimed high and a second later it fired. Ward peered over the spotting scope and watched the massive globule of plasma rise into the air at an arc. He waited a few more seconds and watched as it arced towards its target.

It was heading right for them.

"INCOMING!" he barked frantically, grabbing the spotter scope and hooking it to his belt. "Bug out _now!_"

Wilson picked his rifle up off the partition, turned about, and bolted towards the ladder. The Staff Sergeant held the hatch open for Wilson while his eyes followed the ball of plasma that was screaming towards the roof. As soon as Wilson had disappeared down the access shaft, Ward climbed into the shaft and slid to the bottom of the ladder. A moment later there was a loud _boom _as the entire building shook at its foundation. It sounded like part of the building had collapsed.

Ward darted towards the stairs and headed down them. They needed to move to another position. As he stormed down the stairs, he spoke into his helmet mike. "All callsigns, OP _Angel_ compromised! Break," he said, pausing only to wait for a door that was partially damaged to admit him out into the city street beyond. "Thunderclaw, priority target: enemy Wraith tank located at the third line of defense. Take it out before it can fire on anyone else!"

"_Thunderclaw copies. Engaging."_

Ward decided to join Sergeant Perkins at OP _Guardian_. Wilson was right on his heel as he booked it into the building and began storming up the stairs. After eight flights of stairs, the two reached the rooftop and joined Perkins and Deen in searching for targets. "Hey Staff Sergeant," Perkins greeted nonchalantly. "Glad you weren't vaped by that Wraith."

Jonathan nodded. "Me too."

Somehow, despite the thundering cracks of sniper rifles, the staccato of weapons fire, the rumble of explosions, and the resounding death throes of Covenant troops—Ward distinctly heard something headed their way. The noise became steadily louder as the seconds ticked by. At first he would have been tempted to say it was the air support they had called. But, no… that couldn't be possible. The flight would have announced themselves over the COMMs.

It didn't take him long to realize what it was.

Four air-to-ground attack craft, Banshees, screamed by overhead. At first the Staff Sergeant thought they were headed for his ambush teams. But after a sudden shift in trajectory and an increase in altitude, the realization hit him like a Warthog driving full speed into a brick wall. He immediately keyed his mike, frantic to usher a warning before it was too late.

"Thunderclaw, look out! Flight of Banshees headed straight for you!"

"_Roger, we got 'em on scope," _the pilot replied, his tone unwavering. _"We'll take care of 'em." _

Before he could add anything more, another voice crackled in his ears. _"Eagle Flight carrying twenty-six ATG missiles on station. Time to target: three mikes. How copy?"_

"Solid copy, Eagle Flight," Ward replied, the smile on his face obvious in his voice.

This seemed to motivate the ODSTs to fight harder. Wilson and Deen fired indiscriminately into the crowds of hostile troops while the assault teams picked up the slack left by Thunderclaw as it dealt with their Banshee problem. The Covenant had begun to reorganize itself and fight back, but the damage had already been done. There was no way they would be able to fully recover.

And once Eagle Flight brought down the Al-Julani building, they would be in total disarray. Their plan seemed to be working out better than anyone could have hoped for.

"_Uh, overwatch teams, we could use some support by—SHIT! COVER!"_

Ward honed the scope on the assault teams and was met with the sight of a pair of Hunters ahead of them. A single green stream of plasma came hurtling towards the team and sliced right through a pair of troopers who hadn't been lucky enough to reach cover in time. Ward tapped Wilson on the shoulder and pointed in the direction of the Hunters. The sniper zeroed in and muttered "acquired" to let him know he had them on scope.

A quartet of high velocity sabot rounds slammed into the lead Hunter. Two out of the four ricocheted off its thick armor harmlessly—while the other two met their marks, penetrating through its lower abdomen. The beast howled in pain so loud that Ward had heard it, and it charged towards the teams on the ground in rebuttal. Wilson ejected the spent magazine and in a blur of motion, inserted a new magazine into the mag well and pulled back the charging handle, feeding a round into the chamber.

Another four shots and the Hunter crashed to the ground with a resounding _thud_. Its bond brother growled with rage and charged the line—more successfully than its brother—and swiped at a pair of troopers with its massive shield. Thankfully, the two ODSTs were able to dodge the attack and rolled away from their aggressor. An untold number of grenades landed beneath the armored behemoth's feet and detonated, engulfing it in smoke and flames. Wilson held his finger a quarter of an inch off the trigger as he waited calmly for the plume of smoke and dust that had materialized to dissipate. When it finally cleared enough to see, Ward spotted the figure of a Hunter lying on its back.

It was dead.

The Staff Sergeant was about to say something when the radio crackled to life.

"_Eagle Zero-One to Charlie Six, be advised: we are coming in for our first run. Shot out. TOT thirty seconds, over."_

Ward couldn't help but smile. "Eagle Zero-One, roger that!" He quickly switched channels. "One, report!"

"_We're good, but those damned Hunters caught us by surprise," _Thomas stated. _"... And… PFC Jernigan is KIA."_

Ward frowned grimly and shook his head. _Another casualty of this God forsaken war. _He looked to Sergeant Perkins. His shoulders had slumped down and his grip on the spotting scope had noticeably tightened. He would have to talk to him later. "Roger that. Heads up, though. Shot incoming… ten seconds out."

No sooner had he said that did the missiles pass over their heads. All eyes fell upon them as they sped towards their target, leaving behind a trail of smoke in their wake. The missiles made contact with the building and exploded in a brilliant flash of orange. Debris rained down on the Covenant guarding the door as smoke billowed from the areas of impact. "Eagle Zero-One, delta hotel! Hit it again! Thunderclaw, fire everything you got at that building."

"_Zero-One, copies. Shot out! TOT fifteen!"_

"_Roger, Charlie Six. Engaging!"_

Auto-cannon fire and air-to-ground missiles peppered the Al-Julani building. Debris of different sizes and types rained down on the Covenant below. The assault teams disengaged and fell back as per plan. With the building out of the way there would no longer be a need to advance on the enemy. Ward planned to let command know about the Covenant troops and let the regulars deal with them. After all, the Helljumpers _did _soften them up for them.

The next string of missiles zipped by over head and collided with their target. Not even half a second later the ground began to quake beneath them. Ward could feel the roof of the building they were atop of shaking slightly. Then, as a climatic finale to the battle, the Al-Julani Mining Corporation headquarters collapsed. Dust and soot settled in the streets and an eerie silence fell upon the area. Ward activated his VISR's infrared vision setting and saw the two squads were on the first floor of the building they were in.

"_Charlie Six, Eagle Zero-One, can I get a BDA?"_

Ward chuckled. "Eagle Zero-One, BDA is as follows: delta hotel, target destroyed. Outstanding job, zoomie!"

"_Thanks, Jarhead," _the pilot replied with a laugh.

With that, the connection was cut. Thunderclaw reported it was returning to base for refuel and rearmament. Just as he was about to congratulate everyone on a job well done, the radio crackled back to life. _"Charlie Actual to Charlie Six, come in." _

"This is Charlie Six, mission accomplished, Charlie Actual," Ward said proudly. The others on the roof silently congratulated each other. "Advise you send in the Army for mop up."

"_Copy that. Break. Be advised: you're being pulled out of Pearl City. A Pelican has been dispatched to pick you up at your location," _Captain Schruger explained. Ward furrowed his brow in curiosity.

"Uh, roger that. Interrogative: why aren't we staying in the city?"

"_That's classified, Six Actual. Orders come straight from the top," _Captain Schruger said.

The top? Who in the UNSC brass would have a team of six ODSTs abandon the fighting in the capitol city of Crystal? What was going on? Who had given the order? There were more questions than answers… and he didn't like it. Though, the Captain's next words would say it all. It would explain everything but hint at nothing. The next words were a codeword that every ODST had adopted as slang due to the nature of their relationship with ONI and NavSpecWar.

"_Sierra. Delta. Echo."_

Translation: Spooks. Don't. Exist.


	6. An Unexpected Reunion

**HALO: HELLJUMPER**

**By M. Cartwright**

**A/N: **This chapter was a bit longer than I had originally intended. Near 5k.

Lemme know what you think of it. Reviews is like spaghetti... and I like spaghetti.

* * *

**SECTION II: "DAGGER" BASE**

**CHAPTER VI: AN UNEXPECTED REUNION**

**0311 Hours Local Time, July 6****th****, 2550 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \  
****Aboard D77-TC Pelican drop-ship en route to ONI Installation 0026,  
****Codename "Dagger Base," Crystal Highlands, Crystal**

If you would have told Jonathan Ward that he and his team would be aboard taking them to an ultra top secret Office of Naval Intelligence base located in the highland mountains of Crystal… he'd have probably laughed at you.

Then scoff. Then walk away.

However, after being briefed by an ONI Spook from Section III about where they were headed and why the secrecy was necessary, he would've probably apologized to you afterwards. Sitting at the rear of the troop compartment looking out at the passing scenery of trees, hills, and mountains lit only be the twin moons of Crystal, was the Staff Sergeant. He was contemplating the order of events that had led them to where they were. How did the Office of Naval Intelligence know of them?

That was easy; they would likely have files kept on troop movements for military intelligence purposes. The second question, however, he couldn't seem to find an answer for.

Why Charlie Six?

What was so special about his team that some ONI officer would personally request that his team be ferried across the continent to the distant highlands along the southern coast to help reinforce his base's defenses? And why only one team? The defense of a base as large as Dagger Base was described would need more than a six-man squad of ODSTs. Helljumpers were force multipliers, yeah; but they weren't Spartans.

The rest of his team had largely remained quiet since the Pelican had picked them up near the now-destroyed Covenant HQ. Every now and then the troopers would mutter something to one another or engage in casual conversation, but, no where near as much as usual. The Staff Sergeant was certain they were thinking the same things he was. And he was damn sure they weren't coming up with any answers either. He could tell by the looks on their faces.

Everyone had opted to take off their helmets when they had climbed aboard the bird. No one liked wearing the ODST full face helmets for extended periods of time. It wouldn't have been so bad if they didn't seal their suits; however, out of habit, most of them did. A sealed suit could be a life saver in case of a chemical or biological attack. The apparatus built into the helmet filtered the air and processed it. This meant that the wearer was only breathing clear oxygen. And in the case the ODST were to be subjected to the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space, every set of armor came with a fifteen minute reserve tank of oxygen.

It also helped when the wearer was under water.

Private First Class Colin MacDoyle, who was closest to the hatch that led into the cockpit, rapped his fist against it through times. "Hey! How long 'til we reach the ruddy base?!" he asked with his thick Irish brogue.

"_We're eight minutes out," _the pilot replied, sounding annoyed, over the intercom.

"Oi," Petty Officer Third Class Bradley Cooper mumbled. "I wanna get off this tin can before the Covies decide we're a target worth shootin'."

"Amen," Corporal Thomas said. "Now shut the hell up."

An uneasy silence settled in the troop compartment, much to Ward's dismay. The idle chatter helped distract him from thinking over the logic of things too much. The silence that had fallen just seemed to mock him; to make him contemplate things harder than he had before. Finally, he sighed exasperatedly and craned his head towards his subordinates. Sensing their commander's eyes upon them, all eyes turned to him. He paused for a moment as he tried to organize his thoughts; wondering himself what he wanted to say.

Finally, he decided. "I want everyone to stay on their toes," he said in a serious tone of voice. "We don't know what we're being dropped into."

"When do we ever?" inquired Private First Class Tyler Owen.

"Owen…" Ward started, but was cut off by his subordinate.

"_Shutting up_, Staff Sergeant."

"Good man."

Corporal Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His expression was not as amiable as it usually was. Ward raised a brow at him, his attention focused solely on the corporal now.

"Staff Sergeant, I think what we're all wondering is-"

"... Is why ONI requested _us _and only _us _to reinforce their security forces on the ground," the Staff Sergeant finished for him.

"Well… yes, Staff Sergeant."

Ward sighed and tried to think of something to say. He knew just as much as they did about the situation. And he didn't understand the reasoning behind their sudden transfer either. Answers would only come once their feet were solidly planted in the dirt of the compound and he could talk to someone that could get him into contact with the base commander.

That is, assuming, the base commander didn't meet them when the Pelican landed.

The sudden crackle of the intercom coming to life startled Ward out of his thoughts. He looked out at the scenery beneath him and noted small silhouettes of Covenant cutting paths through the forest and up the slope of a mountain. He assumed this was the mountain the base rested atop of. _"Eyes on Dagger Base; they're takin' a beatin'." _

As the Pelican made a pass over the base Ward saw Covenant troops assaulting the base in droves. Ghosts and Spectre transports engaged squads of Marines and any human vehicles they came across. Plumes of smoke rose into the air from one of the metal outer perimeter fences—a hole massive enough to fit Covenant troops in groups of three through it—and a lance of aliens headed towards it. Whatever was in that base, the Covenant wanted it, and they wanted it _bad_.

The base sat atop a mountain, on a segment that was mainly level, and its western fence line ended in the precipice of a cliff. The precipice looked out over a two hundred feet drop to the thick forest below. The only means of reaching the base were by aircraft and a wide slope that led up to the main gain from the base of the mountain. Currently, a handful of Wraith mortar tanks were climbing the slope to the base, stopping only to launch a mortar over the perimeter fence. Whether the mortar did any kind of damage depended on if it actually hit anything. The majority of the rounds appeared to simply collide with open terrain not occupied by any of the base personnel.

"Pilot, bring us down to the landing pad furthest from the fighting," Ward barked over the radio, grabbing his helmet and placing it over his head. "We'll link up with someone and find out how we can help."

"_Copy, headed in!"_

The Pelican shifted its nose towards the ground and steadily began losing altitude. Ward's stomach went into his throat as it descended and he almost thought to pilot was going to ram the bird right into the ground. At the very last moment, however, the pilot oriented the thrusters forward, slowing the vehicle until it was lazily hovering several meters over the ground. The Pelican lowered to just a few inches off the deck and the Staff Sergeant hit the ground running.

Grabbing the butt of his rifle and unslinging it from over his shoulder, he didn't slow down as he waved for his men to follow him. Explosions and the bark of human weapons fire resonated through the cool night sky. The Staff Sergeant briefly looked over his shoulder and grinned when he saw his men following close behind, having assumed a staggered column. He pushed past the landing pads and the numerous supply crates that dotted the area, heading towards a door that he presumed would lead them to the front of the base.

The door opened as he approached it and he swept through the room with his rifle, the others barging in right on his heels. He found himself in a dimly lit chow hall that had likely been closed for the night. It wouldn't open again until zero four hundred at the earliest, most likely. He thumbed the switch to activate the tactical flashlight built into his assault rifle and moved along the wall to the opposite side of the room. He came to another set of doors. A pair of double doors directly to his right and another door in front of him, slightly offset to the left.

He decided that the double doors probably led into the base and went with the single door in front of him. It chimed amiably at his approach and receded into the wall. The outside world was left for his inspection as he stepped through the threshold of the hatch. Three rows of Marines, organized into defensive lines, held off wave after wave of incoming Covenant troops. The night lit up with blue and green globules of plasma mixed with purple crystalline needles and green tracer fire from the human side of the lines. The Staff Sergeant had to resist staring at it in awe.

He silently issued orders to his men via hand signals and then sprinted across the open terrain to the nearest group of Marines. They were positioned at strategic intervals along either side of a Warthog acting as the center of gravity of their formation. A grizzly Marine with a bloody, wounded arm, manned the M41 LAAG turret as it spat out round after round of red hot lead towards the Covenant's forces. He quick-marched over to the guy who looked to be in charge of the squad.

As the Marine cast a glance in his direction, he froze. That Marine looked familiar to him. The short blond hair, the sparkling ocean blue eyes, the scar going through his eyebrow. Yes, he _knew _that Marine. The Sergeant seemed to sense something was wrong, because he titled his head at him like a dog and murmured something along the lines of "is there something on my face?"

"Furby?" Ward finally managed to murmur, stepping closer to the Marine Sergeant.

The Marine's eyes widened as he recognized the voice. "Jonny?!" he exclaimed in surprise. Ward depolarized his visor so that Sergeant Furby could see it and the Marine suddenly stepped forward and hugged the ODST tightly. Ward hugged his friend back and the two broke apart, Furby shaking his head incredulously. "I can't believe it's you! Small universe, eh?"

The Staff Sergeant chuckled. "I'm not so sure," Ward said. "I'm guessing if you're here, that means the rest of Oscar Company is here."

Furby nodded affirmatively. "Yeah. I got put in charge of first squad shortly after you left for HJS. We've been stationed here for six months."

_Six months? _The Staff Sergeant tried to wrap his mind around that. Crystal was a world deep within the Core Worlds and strategically unimportant aside from being a major hub for military personnel on R&R. Oscar Company was a frontline unit and had always gone where the fighting was the thickest. It was hard for him to imagine that Command would have seen it appropriate to post them here, of all places. And on an ONI base?

There were a lot of questions that didn't have answers.

His musings were cut short, however. An overcharged ball of plasma came flying directly at his head. Jonathan rolled out of the way just in time to avoid his head being vaporized by the blast. "Covenant flankers! Take 'em out!" Sergeant Furby shouted. "Donaldson, align your gun to the ten o'clock!"

The Marine manning the LAAG, Donaldson, complied and swiveled the turret around to bear on the enemy. Three lances of Covenant troops led by their respective Elite commanders rushed forward and into cover as the heavy turret spat fiery hot death in their direction. An unfortunate Grunt became target practice for the trigger happy Marine. It was reduced to a pulpy mass of blood and flesh as the bullets tore through its body like it was made of paper.

Ward snapped his rifle's sights onto the nearest alien and worked the trigger, sending a steady stream of semi-automatic fire into the Covenant line. Nineteen men, thirteen Marines and six Helljumpers, fired into the crowd of Covenant that aimed to break through their lines and infiltrate the base. Needle rounds soared at the Warthog and ricocheted off its armor, threatening to take out the eager gunner if one of the shots should so happen not to miss him. Ward honed in on the bastard carrying the Needler and was met with the sight of a purple armored Elite.

He thumbed the fire selector to fully automatic and expended the remainder of the magazine into the alien's chest. Its shield deflected the rounds and it laughed in defiance, moving forward some before diving into cover behind a large rock. Jon cursed under his breath as he ejected the spent mag and replaced it with a fresh one. "Lead to Team, take out that purple bastard with the Needler before he scores a hit on the 'Hog's gunner!"

As his squad gunned for the Elite, one of the Marines' called out a suicide Grunt headed straight for their position. Ward popped out from cover and gave the overeager little bastard two to the chest and one to the head. It fell to the ground anticlimactically and the plasma grenades it had been holding in its hands detonated, vaporizing the body from existence. However, a pair of Jackals armed with Carbines sprung from concealment and lined up clean shots on his chest.

The Staff Sergeant barely had time to duck as green streaks of caseless radioactive projectiles whizzed overhead and tore through a Marine in the midst of reloading. Furby said a bad word and peppered the Jackal's midsections with fire. The two aliens tumbled to the ground in bloody heaps—though Ward suspected they weren't down for the count just yet. So, to be sure, he yanked his last frag grenade from the bandolier and chucked it towards the position that the Jackals had occupied.

It landed somewhere near where the pair had fallen and detonated half a second later. One of the Jackal's cried out one last time in defiance before succumbing to the fiery hot embrace of the grenade.

"Staff Sergeant," PO3 Cooper shouted over the staccato of gunfire, "contacts are pinned down! Let's flank the bastards!"

"Aye, let's kill these gobshites 'n get a move on!" screamed MacDoyle.

Ward nodded and fired another burst towards the enemy before turning to Furby. "We're gonna flank left and try to get around them! I need suppressing fire on those tangos!"

"Got it," Furby said determinedly, then turned to face his men. "You heard 'im, Marines! SUPPRESSING FIRE!"

If it weren't for his audio dampeners, he would have probably gone deaf as ten Marines with various weapons systems and an M41 LAAG sent a hailstorm of withering fire in the direction of the enemy. The Covenant troops dispersed and found cover wherever they could; those unlucky enough not to reach it in time becoming bloody corpses. Ward ordered MacDoyle and Cooper to follow him and he darted from where he stood to a pile of sandbags directly to his left. Mac and Coop joined him shortly and he moved to the next position; behind a large rock roughly eight meters ahead of the sandbag position.

The trio of Helljumpers bounded from cover to cover until they had successfully bypassed the enemy and had ended up behind them. Ward peered over the edge of the rubble he was presently hiding behind and watched as a Major Domo ordered his remaining troops into a tight, circular formation. The aliens formed what could only be described as a turtle shell—Jackals using their shields to block enemy fire from the front and sides while the Grunts piled in the middle and the Elite brought up the rear.

_They also lead from the back, _Ward thought with a scoff. He looked to his friends and asked them using his hands if they had any grenades. Cooper shook his head in the negative. MacDoyle rifled through his pockets and retrieved two M9 HE-DP fragmentation grenades and a plasma grenade. The Staff Sergeant grinned and then pointed from the plasma grenade to the Elite and then the frag grenades to the formation. Mac, understanding what he was asking, gave him the OK sign and readied himself to toss the grenades.

Ward rested his weapon against the rubble for support and took aim on the Grunts at the heart of the Covenant formation. They were steadily advancing towards Furby's squad and he watched in horror as a projectile from a Covenant Carbine punched through Donaldson's neck and he tumbled off the back of the Warthog. Jonathan's finger caressed the trigger for a split-second before he applied pressure. The rifle bucked as it sent seven point six two millimeter rounds crashing into the Major Domo's back.

It growled in surprise and whipped around to face him. Just then Mac activated his plasma grenade and threw it with all his might. The grenade soared end-over-end in the air for a few seconds before landing right on the Elite's head. It roared in surprise, fear, and uncontrolled rage before being engulfed in a blue-white spectacle, the explosion engulfing a few of the Grunts in the formation as well. Mac tossed his remaining grenades and switched back to his rifle just as Ward's MA5B ran dry.

The Staff Sergeant reloaded with practiced ease and returned to putting down the Covenant that was now in a state of disarray. The Grunts, without the strict discipline of their Elite commander to keep them in line, ran in all directions in an attempt to escape their grim fates. Ward was more than happy to end their suffering with a mouthful of lead. He fired burst after burst after burst into the Covenant line until he could see no more contacts milling around.

And the area fell quiet. Or, relatively quiet considering the firefights happening all around. Ward, Mac, and Cooper rushed over to Furby's squad and the Staff Sergeant ordered Cooper to check on Donaldson. A moment later he was hauling the injured Devil Dog to the Warthog and propping him up against it. The gunner was somehow still alive.

Though, judging by his wounds, he wasn't going to last much longer. Ward joined Sergeant Furby as he marched over to the corpsman and knelt down beside him.

"How's my man doin', Doc?" he asked, trying to keep his voice sounding calm and level.

Cooper didn't even look at him as he spoke. "Not too good. He's banged up pretty bad."

Donaldson looked at the two of them before coughing up blood. He spit the metallic liquid out of his mouth onto the gravel beside of Cooper. "I can hear ya, y'know?"

Cooper sighed. "Just hold still, mate. I gotta clean the wound, plug it with Biofoam, and slap a pretty lil' band-aid on it for ya."

The young lance corporal complied, gritting his teeth as Cooper poured water on the wound with his canteen and began to scrub at it with a cotton swab. He then pulled out a tube of disinfectant ointment, squirting some of its contents onto his finger. The corpsman rubbed the ointment into the wound gently, making sure he covered every inch of the hole on either side completely. Before he continued, he glanced up at Donaldson.

"Now," the Petty Officer began, retrieving a pen from pocket. "Because the shot went clean through your throat and the Biofoam will effectively cut off your ability to breathe normally, I'm going to punch a hole in ya to breathe through with this little bugger. You'll suck air in through that hole so that ya don't asphyxiate and die on us."

Donaldson nodded, though his expression looked skeptical. Cooper sighed, but said nothing, and took the pen and aligned it at the base of his neck. Then he jabbed it through the skin cleaned up the little bit of blood that gushed out of it. After that, he pulled a canister of Biofoam off of his belt and placed the nozzle inside the hole. With a squeeze of the trigger the canister expelled the foam-like substance into the man's throat.

Donaldson instantly tensed up and clenched his fists, squinting his eyes in pain. A moment later Cooper finished filling up the wound with Biofoam and placed the canister back on his belt and covered up the holes with bandages as the substance began to harden. Then the corpsman stood up and nodded his head to Furby. "He should be fine for now. At some point he should have the bandages replaced as well as have the Biofoam taken out. Base medical can handle that, I'm sure."

The Sergeant nodded and then turned to Ward. "Your Doc knows his stuff."

"He's an ODST," Ward replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

An explosion resounded nearby and a burly Marine coming from the front of the base sprinted over to them. The Staff Sergeant's eyes widened as soon as the man was close enough for him to see his face. Thomas Stone's features hadn't changed one bit. He stood just less than six feet and had a salt-and-pepper high and tight haircut. His face was marred with scars and Ward noted a few fresh ones that hadn't been there before. He had dull steely blue eyes, thin lips, and bushy black eyebrows. Jonathan noticed the three chevrons and double rockers on his collar; he was a gunnery sergeant now.

"Well, now that you love birds are re-acquainted, mind gettin' yer asses in gear!" Gunnery Sergeant Stone barked in his thick southern drawl. "We got a shit ton of pissed off Covies knockin' at our front door! Follow me!"

"Aye, Gunny!" Ward and Furby exclaimed in unison.

Stone turned on his heel and started sprinting back towards the main gate of the base—Ward and Furby hot on his heels with their respective squads in tow. It took them several minutes of plowing through small bands of Covenant troops to reach the sandbag positions erected by the front gate. The gate had been breached, a massive hole having been punched through the half-inch thick metal that the Covenant was now pouring through. Furby spread his men out along the line and ordered them to open fire.

Ward spotted a sandbag barrier with a mounted M247 General Purpose Machine Gun, unmanned, and rushed over to it. He yanked the charging level back resulting in a metallic _click _as a round was loaded into the chamber and he thumbed the safety off. Corporal Thomas and Lance Corporal Wilson crouched down beside him as he opened fire.

The first round exploded out the barrel and crashed into a Jackal that was about to deploy its shield, its chest exploding open, and a thin scarlet mist coated the area as its body dropped. The machine gun shook violently in his grasp as it spat out 7.62x51mm Full Metal Jacket rounds that shredded anything in their path. A quartet of Elites attempted to flank a fire team of Marines off to the left of the main gate. Ward swiveled the turret in their direction and he let loose with a sustained burst from the weapon, the bullets screaming towards the alien's like a swarm of angry bees. The first Elite's shields were already weakened from the Marine's fire, and it collapsed with a few hits.

The GPMG's ammo tore through its armor like butter and the Elite collapsed, its guts sprawled out of its stomach. The remaining trio divided their attention between the Staff Sergeant and the Marines, laying down a heavy volume of fire that whooshed mere inches by his head. A moment later a bolt of plasma struck home—slamming right into his shoulder—and he gritted his teeth as it burned through his pauldron and seared his flesh. He swung the weapon towards the Elite who'd hit him and dropped it with what bullets remained in the box magazine.

"Out of ammo!"

Thomas ducked down and retrieved another belt from an ammo crate beside the weapon. Wilson, wielding an M7 SMG, increased his rate of fire towards the enemy as the Corporal reloaded the weapon. He gave Jonathan a thumbs up when he was finished and the Staff Sergeant pulled the charging handle again and resumed firing. More and more Covenant poured into the area, including Brutes that rushed past their allies and charged the Marines' positions. He heard surprised shouts from a pair of Marines as a Brute vaulted over the sandbag they'd used as cover.

It jammed its Spiker into the face of the closest Marine and fired. His body toppled over with a metal spike jutting out his forehead. The other Marine tried to tackle the alien only for it to whip around and slam its fist into his face, a sickening _crack; _he collapsed, never to rise up again. Ward was about to shift his aim towards the grey-furred ape-like creature when a trio of grenades landed at its feet and detonated, engulfing it in orange-yellow flames. Blood and Brute parts landed everywhere.

"_Incoming!" _Someone announced over the radio.

Ward's eyes darted to the sky only to be met with the sight of nearly a dozen blobs of plasma arcing towards him and the others. "Get out of here!" he shouted and started to make a run for it. A ear-splitting _boom _echoed behind him and he felt himself become airborne as a wave of intense heat washed over his back. A split-second later he hit the ground. _Hard_.

Every bone in his body ached as he pushed himself off the ground. The ground quaked beneath him as blood-curdling screams filled his ears. His eyes darted to the bottom left of his HUD and he was relieved to see his team's vitals were all in the green. He was pretty sure his was in the yellow and he'd probably need to see Cooper after the battle was over.

Suddenly, an object flew over his head in a blur of motion, speeding towards the mass of Covenant troops advancing on the human defenses. It collided with the ground and exploded, engulfing at least a dozen of the aliens in its embrace. Instinctively, he cast a glance towards the sky and spotted a flight of Hornets off in the distance headed towards them. _Fast. _

A moment later they opened up with GUA-23/A Heavy Autocannons and guided missiles. Covenant troops were slaughtered in droves; some blown in half by autocannon fire while others were caught by the steady stream of guided missiles. _"Victor Two-Seven, prioritize targets! Take out those Goddamned Wraiths!" _barked the familiar voice of Gunnery Sergeant Stone over the comms.

The Hornet's fire shifted to somewhere beyond the main gate and moments later several explosions resounded. The human lines erupted with cheers of "get some" and "light 'em up!" A minute later all fell eerily silent aside from the roar of the Hornet's engines. _"All stations this net, this is Oden: Covenant forces in full retreat. Outstanding work!"_

Ward exhaled a sigh of relief and suddenly he felt _very _tired. He realized that he hadn't had any sleep since the day before. Not that he wasn't used to staying up for long periods of time. He'd once had to stay awake for three days, only catching maybe fifteen minutes of sleep that entire time, while on a mission during his days as a regular Marine. But, when he could help it, he liked to catch as much sleep as he could.

The Staff Sergeant caught movement out of his peripheral and turned to see Gunnery Sergeant Stone approaching him. He stood a bit more erect before he stopped in front of him. "Good work out there, Staff Sarn't," the aging NCO congratulated. "Glad t' sees ya ain't lost yer touch."

Ward nodded with a grin. "Glad to see you haven't changed much with age, Gunny."

"Are ya callin' me old, son?" Stone inquired with a grin. "Don't make me beat ya t' death with my cane!"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Gunny."

Stone nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, round up yer band of psychotic hooligans 'n follow me. I'll reckon ya need a place t' crash 'n I happen t' know where that place is."

Ward smiled and ordered his men to rally up over the radio. When everyone arrived, he nodded to Stone, and the old man led them towards the base living quarters.

He planned to sleep like a baby when he got there.


	7. A Familiar Face

**HALO: HELLJUMPER**

**By M. Cartwright**

**A/N: **Hey guys, I want to sincerely apologize for the ungodly long period of time its been since my last update. I kind of went on a vacation and had no way to get to my files to update. Needless to say next time I'll be coming prepared.

That said, since you guys had to wait so painstakingly long for an update, I have decided to upload _four _chapters instead of the original two I had been planning to put up here. It's my way of apologizing to you guys and giving you guys something to hold you over until my next update, whenever that may be. Hopefully soon, right? Well, anyways, enjoy the next few chapters and don't forget to leave reviews! :)

**CHAPTER VII: A FAMILIAR FACE**

**1100 Hours Local Time, July 6****th****, 2550 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \**

**Living Quarters, Delta Barracks, ONI Installation "Dagger Base," **

**Planet Crystal**

An alarm blaring from somewhere inside the room pierced into his dreams and dragged him out from his slumber. He had to resist the urge to jump up and grab his rifle, as he realized it was only the alarm clock he'd set before he went to sleep. Groggily, Jon shut off the damnable device and attempted to sit up. Lances of pain shot up his spine and it was in that moment he realized he had a throbbing headache.

He blinked a couple times as he tried to bring the world into focus. The Staff Sergeant found himself lying in the bed of a small, almost dorm-style room, and spotted the door to the squalid bathroom in the right corner of the room, near the door to his room. He swung his legs round and stood up, immediately regretting doing so as his feet met with the cold, metallic floor. He ignored the sensation as best he could and yawned while stretching his neck, back, and shoulders. Pain caused his to grit his teeth as he stretched his right shoulder.

The memory of earlier that morning flooded back to him. He had been manning the M41 LAAG on the back of a Warthog when a lucky shot had gotten him in the shoulder. After the battle, Doc Cooper had taken a look at his injuries and had given him MediGel and bandages for the wound. Fortunately, the burns were relatively superficial. His skin would heal eventually. Jonathan walked over to the bathroom and was about to step inside and get ready to take a nice, warm shower, when someone knocked on his door.

Jonathan sighed and stared longingly at the shower for a moment before approaching the door. He pressed his index finger to the panel beside the entryway and the door slid into the wall. Standing on the opposite end of the threshold was none other than Gunnery Sergeant Stone. Though, as opposed to last night, he was no longer in armor and wore the infamous NCO cover atop his head. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the Staff Sergeant with an unreadable expression.

"I'm here t' take ya t' see th' head honcho," he said, his tone as flat as his expression.

"I was just about to get a shower, Gunny."

Stone sighed with a shake of his head. "Go on 'n git it. Just don't take thirty mikes tryna make yerself look all prettified. Ya can leave the make up off."

Ward said nothing as he gestured for the Gunnery Sergeant to step inside, to which he declined, and he simply shrugged. He pivoted on his heel and casually made his way into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. It took him less than five minutes to strip, jump in the shower, and wash off. In the back of his mind he cursed Stone for knocking at his door. He'd really been hoping to lean back and enjoy the shower.

But now he was pressed for time. If it was one thing he remembered from his days as a regular Marine, it was that Thomas Stone didn't like to be kept waiting. By _anyone_.

He killed the shower once he was finished rinsing himself off and hastily toweled off. Jonathan picked up the clothes he'd draped over the sink—a pair of black skivvies and urban camouflage utility trousers—and began getting dressed. He pulled on the black skivvie shorts first and then pulled on the shirt and tucked it into his shorts. The letters 'ODST' were stenciled across the chest of his shirt in big, bold white lettering. Then he pulled the camouflage pants over his legs and buttoned them and slipped on his boots. It took him less than a minute to blouse his trouser legs into the boots and lace them up.

And then he was finished dressing.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, he debated with himself momentarily over whether or not he should wear his camouflage blouse over top his shirt. But, he decided against it, but _did _grab his web belt and put it on. With that done he stepped out of his room to find Stone leaning against the wall beside the door outside.

"Ya finished dickin' around in th' Head? Or did ya forget somethin'?"

Ward nodded his head. "I'm good now, Gunny."

Stone said nothing as he pushed himself from off the wall and started on his way down the hall. The Staff Sergeant followed close behind him. He led Jonathan through a network of corridors before reaching a set of double doors. He watched his former platoon sergeant punch in a code into the panel beside the door and undergo a retina scan before the AI he assumed helped run the base would admit him through the doors.

As they stepped through the doors, he found himself standing along the edge of a huge, circular courtyard. Situated around a fountain in the center of the courtyard were trees and bushes strategically placed alongside concrete footpaths. Each path led somewhere, though where, he wasn't exactly sure. As he looked up towards one of the buildings to the left he noted a single large window that overlooked the whole courtyard. If he had to take a guess, he assumed that was where the base commander's office would be.

He became aware of the fact that he had been standing still as he inspected the area around him… and that Stone had continued on his stride without checking to see if he was still following him. The Staff Sergeant quick-marched through the courtyard until he spotted him, and then rejoined the Gunnery Sergeant as he came to a door. Yet again he had to input some kind of code and undergo a retina scan before the door let out an amiable chime of acceptance. Stone continued walking again as if he'd never stopped, Ward right on his heels.

Jonathan noted that the senior NCO opted not to take the elevator and instead took him up a flight of stairs to reach the next level, and then they marched through yet another network of corridors that all looked the same. _How do these ONI guys ever find where they're going? I'd be lost in ten seconds if I worked here, _Ward mused, but pushed the thought out of his mind as they finally arrived at a door with big bold letters over top that read "BASE CMDR'S OFFICE." Stone rapped his knuckles against the metal door three times.

"Enter," echoed the reply through the door. The Staff Sergeant thought he recognized the voice, but dismissed the thought as the door slid into the wall to admit him.

The office before him was long, rectangular in shape. To his left along the wall was a couch with a coffee table situated in front of it. To his right were drawers and cabinets full that Ward assumed were filled with classified documents and… well, whatever else an ONI base commander kept in his office. In the back left corner of the room was a small olive drab cot that looked like it seen a lot of use. Mounted on the back wall were commendations and medals encased in wood with glass covers. And, like he had guessed, in the right corner was the large window he'd seen from the courtyard. Finally, in the center of the room towards the back was a long mahogany desk.

On the right corner was a cup full of writing utensils and a picture facing away him from him. On the left corner was a stack of manila folders with "CLASSIFIED – TOP SECRET" stamped in bright red ink across them. Resting on the center of the desk was a datapad, the screen dim. Behind the desk was a comfortable looking desk chair that was facing the back wall—away from him. The Staff Sergeant marched up to the desk, stopping roughly a foot away from it, and snapped to attention and rendered a crisp salute.

"Staff Sergeant Jonathan Ward, reporting as ordered, sir!"

"At ease, Staff Sergeant," rang the disembodied voice of the base commander. Instead of relaxing, he froze. He recognized the man behind that voice before he'd even turned around. After spending the majority of his military career serving under the man before he volunteered for the ODSTs, he'd recognize that voice anywhere. As if to confirm his suspicions, the chair swiveled round and his eyes met with widened as he saw him.

Anthony Durant, his former platoon commander, sat in the chair of the base commander, smiling warmly up at him. It took Ward a moment to regain his composure. He relaxed and Durant gestured for him to take a seat. He obeyed and sat down in the rather uncomfortable metal chair in front of his desk. Ward's eyes fell on the silver oak leaf of a Marine Lieutenant Colonel. _He's been busy lately. He was a Captain the last time I saw him. _

"Good to see you again, Staff Sergeant," Durant said, still smiling at the former subordinate sitting in front of him.

"It's good to see you too, sir."

"I suppose it's by the grace of Oden that you're here," Durant said. Ward said nothing and kept his face unreadable. He suspected that it was more than the grace of the deity to a long dead religion that caused so many coincidences in a short amount of time.

"You'll forgive me if I don't believe that, sir."

The Colonel's smile widened. "I'd consider you a fool if you did, son."

If there was one remark that came to Ward's mind to describe Durant, it would be that he was a very _unusual _man; teetering on the borderline of bat shit crazy. Unlike the majority of the human population who either was agnostic, atheist, or prescribed to the "mainstream" religions, Durant was neither of those. He believed heavily in the tales of Norse Mythology; believing that when a great warrior passes into the next life, he would enjoy a blissful eternity among fellow warriors in the realm of Valhalla.

Jonathan vividly recalled the speeches that his former commanding officer would give them before going into the field. "Fight with honor and never surrender… for those are qualities that Valhalla never turns away." Ward, believing in prophesies foretold in the Bible, always scoffed at his ramblings. But, that had been a time when he'd clung heavily to his beliefs. Now, he wasn't so sure what he believed anymore. Could there really be a God after all that he had seen? Colonies transformed into wastelands and innocent people slaughtered by the millions? And an alien hegemony that was bent on their total annihilation?

Why hadn't God intervened? Why would he allow such bloodshed to happen? These were all questions that raced through his mind when he thought about religion and the Bible. Could he really judge Durant on his beliefs when he couldn't make sense of his own?

It was something to think about.

What struck Jonathan as surprising was the fact that the Colonel would have accepted employment with the Office of Naval Intelligence. He had never been inclined to sit on his ass behind a desk and push paper around. The Staff Sergeant remembered him as a man of action; always ready to roll his sleeves up and get dirty with the men and women under his command. Did he feel that he would be of more use where he was right now? And that also brought the most important question to mind: what was he doing now?

Durant studied him for a moment. Then, he leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. "I know what you're probably thinking."

Ward tensed and leaned forward just an inch. "Oh?"

"Mmhm," he replied nonchalantly. "You're asking yourself what a seasoned warrior like myself is doing sitting behind a finely crafted desk when he should be outside with the rest of the grunts in the thick of the fighting. Well, son, I've got news for you. It was the toughest decision of my life. You could say I had a moral crisis on my hands. I was approached by this man in a Navy uniform, totally absent of rank denominator and identification. He looked at me and asked me a whole lot of personal questions. He tried to get a rise out of me."

Ward felt himself leaning forward more as he became lost in the Colonel's story. He was very interested to hear what the man had to say. "I must've passed because the next question he asked me when it was all said and done was, 'How would you like to work for ONI?' I stared at him and pondered over the question for a long moment. Hell, I felt like time had frozen around me. But, I suppose in the end I felt like maybe I would be more valuable to the war effort as a Spook. And after my training and my official induction into the Office of Naval Intelligence, I found out how right I was."

"I can't disclose the details of what I've seen. The security clearance necessary is _way _above your pay grade. But, I can say this: if I had known back then the things that I do now, how much my job can save lives and influence the very outcome of entire campaigns… I probably wouldn't have believed it. Sure, I miss the high I got off the adrenaline and the satisfaction I felt of smashing some poor split-lip's head into a pulpy mass… but I _enjoy _what I do now greatly. And that's more than what a lot of my colleagues can say."

Ward was utterly dumbfounded. The only word that his mind could muster to describe what he had just been told, however stupid it sounded, was "Wow." Lieutenant Colonel Durant merely chuckled and sat up in his chair, the contented smile he had never going away from a second. In a way, Ward envied the officer. He no longer had to see the suffering and the death that was so regularly a part of his life. The anguish of watching your comrades' fall in the heat of battle. All he had to worry about was keeping up with the administration of the base and making sure he didn't let the UNSC's secrets slip from his lips to the wrong person. He was happily disconnected from everything that went on around him.

The look on his superior's face told him that he was being read. Durant was mentally taking notes about him, his expressions, his body language, everything. Reading every minute detail about him as to get an idea of how he felt and what he was thinking. It was then that he fully realized that Lieutenant Colonel Anthony Theodore Durant was a _Spook_. And once you became a Spook, you never could go back from it.

A pleasant chime resounded from Durant's datapad and he picked up, the light from the screen covering his face in bright luminescence as his eyes skimmed through the contents of what Ward could only assume had been a message. After several moments of awkward silence, Durant carefully placed the datapad back on the desk with the screen off, and looked back to the Staff NCO in front of him. "I'm afraid I have to cut our reunion short. There's some… business… I must attend to."

"Yes, sir," Ward replied. He started to stand up when a thought crossed his mind. "Sir?"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant?"

"May I ask why you requested my team be sent here?" Ward scrutinized his former CO carefully, determined to see if there were any indications in his eyes or his demeanor that there was some ulterior motive behind the move.

Durant offered him a mock expression of innocence. "I never-"

"Don't play games with me… sir," Ward said, keeping his voice dangerously calm. "It couldn't be a coincidence that my CO tells me my team, and _only _my team, has been ordered to head to an ONI base run by my former commanding officer and the unit I served with for more than half of my career before I volunteered for the outfit I'm with now is here too."

The Colonel sat there and appeared to be considering everything that he had said. Then, as before, his face contorted into a soft smile. "I think someone should have offered you employment with ONI, Staff Sergeant. You're very perceptive."

"Don't patronize-"

"_Watch it_, Staff Sergeant," Durant growled, his demeanor suddenly changing. "I may be ONI but I still am a superior officer. You will honor me with the respect I deserve."

Ward sighed, knowing that he couldn't argue with the man. "Yes, sir. I apologize."

"Don't. It's a sign of weakness," Durant said, his smile returning. "And to answer your rather blunt question; I requested your team because of _you._" Ward stared at him, eager for him to give an explanation. "Being that I am now graced with the power and privileges bestowed upon an agent within the Office of Naval Intelligence, I have access to all classified documents pertaining to your team's activities as well as your detailed after action reports. I knew the Covenant would be standing on our doorstep trying to kick down our doors. So, I wanted a team that I could have defending the base one moment, and taking the fight to the enemy in the next. Most importantly of all, I needed someone I could _trust _to hold such a responsibility."

"And you chose me," Ward said, more so as a statement then a question.

"Precisely," Durant affirmed. "You were the best candidate for the job. Someone else may not have been as… trustworthy… as you."


	8. Food for Thought

**HALO: HELLJUMPER**

**By M. Cartwright**

**CHAPTER VIII: FOOD FOR THOUGHT**

**1154 Hours Local Time, July 6****th****, 2550 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \ **

**Mess Hall 01, ONI Installation "Dagger Base," **

**Planet Crystal**

The mess hall looked different than how he had remembered it from earlier that morning. For one, it was now crowded with personnel from different parts of the base and, as he walked deeper into the room, he noticed several groups of Marines sitting isolated in the corner of the mess hall. A flicker of a grin crossed his features as he followed the pleasant aroma of freshly cooked food to its source—the chow line—and retrieved a tray from a stack placed at the beginning of the line.

As he stood in the line, he made twin revelations. The first: the chow line was configured differently than what he was used to. On the typical UNSC ship, if one wanted to order food, they would have to approach a machine and press a whole lot of buttons to select what they wanted to eat. The Dagger Base chow line were configured more like a buffet. The food was displayed in front of you in heated containers and all you had to do was grab what you wanted and move on to the next station until you were satisfied with the meal in front of you.

The second: the food that ONI served to its personnel was of top quality. All the food was freshly prepared before chow call, not food stored in a freezer for God knew how long, thawed, and re-cooked. That meant that the taste was exponentially better and you never had to worry about being served food still partially frozen. A fact he was silently thankful for.

After filling his tray with fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, and a side of green beans, he left the chow line behind and searched for a place to sit. Surprisingly, he found an empty table in the far back corner of the mess hall and immediately headed towards it. Once he was seated, he tore a plastic spork from the thin layer of plastic it was encased in, and immediately dug into his meal.

He had to resist jumping out of his seat when—while consumed in devouring the food in front of him—someone plopped down into the chair across from him. He managed to keep himself from being startled when he finally noticed Sergeant Jason Furby sitting across from him with a smile on his face. Before anything could be said by either of them, the seats to his right and Furby's left were suddenly occupied by PFCs MacDoyle and Owen.

"Afternoon, Staff Sergeant!" Owen greeted exuberantly, to which Ward simply nodded to him.

"This food is amazing," commented MacDoyle as he began digging into his own plate of food.

"Yeah," replied Furby, rather tersely. "It's one of the few redeeming qualities of being stationed here for so long. ONI knows how to cook a meal."

The Staff Sergeant could tell by the expression upon his friend's face that he had hoped to be able to catch up with his buddy alone. Jon shrugged at him as if to say 'I'm not saying anything', to which Jason frowned. "So, Jonny, what's up?" he asked, sounding hesitant to refer to him by his nickname. MacDoyle and Owen said nothing of it, so Ward didn't feel the need to say anything on the subject.

"Well, I just ran into the illustrious commanding officer of Dagger Base," he said, flatly.

Jason nodded at him with a smirk. "Good 'ol Durant."

"Yep."

"Still think he's crazy?"

Ward nodded without hesitation. "More than ever."

This caused Jason's smirk to widen. Jon guessed his come back before he had even said it. "This comin' from a guy who drops from the upper atmosphere in a metal tin can that could easily become his coffin."

Ward chuckled. "Yeah, well, at least I _know _I'm crazy."

"Women dig us crazy guys!" Owen blurted out all of a sudden.

"Owen," MacDoyle started, shaking his head. "Shut the hell up 'n quit actin' the maggot."

The Sergeant cast a curious glance towards the two ODSTs beside them. "So, who're your friends?" he asked.

Ward chuckled. "The gentleman to my right is our demolitionist, PFC Tyler Owen," he said, to which Owen waved at Jason, "and the man beside you is our CQB expert, PFC Colin MacDoyle."

Jason nodded and glanced at MacDoyle. He studied him for a moment before making the comment, "Nice mohawk."

"Thanks. I get that a lot."

The next few minutes passed in companionable silence. Ward took the opportunity to finish his meal, placing the spork down with an air of finality, and rubbed his stomach. _That was good, _he thought pleasantly. He hadn't had a meal that good since the last time he had been on leave on Reach. His wife had cooked him a huge dinner for just the two of them. It had been a great meal and the sex that had happened so spontaneously afterward had been the icing on the metaphorical cake for him.

The thought of that night made him miss her so much more. He missed waking up in beside her, snuggling with her while she slept so peacefully. The scent of the shampoo she used, the smile that snuck its away across her face when she felt him embrace her. The look of bliss on her face when they did the deed. It all so vividly snaked its way to the front of his mind. He wanted to be home so very badly.

And not just because of his wife. No, his daughter too came to mind as he reminisced about the last time he was home. The innocent, carefree look on her face as she played with her toys. That happy smile she always wore when he read her a story before she went to bed. The elation he felt when she took her first steps. All of that came back to him.

Though, instead of being at home with the family he loved so dearly, he was _here_. Sitting in a mess hall on a planet light-years away from Reach. Maybe two dozen systems away from them. Or, well, maybe more. He wasn't sure of the distance exactly, but what he did know was this: any distance away from his family was _too far._

Jonathan was brought back to reality when he suddenly noticed the absence of Mac and Owen. He focused on Furby who couldn't help but notice the look on his face. He laughed and shook his head. "They finished eating and left," he explained matter-of-factly. "And I know that look. Thinkin' about your family again, huh?"

"Yeah," Ward answered after a moment.

"How are they?"

He thought about that for a long moment. The last letchip he had received from his wife had been brief. But, from the sounds of it everything was going okay at home. She was supposedly starting up her job as a teacher's assistance in a few months time and their daughter would be starting school. Beyond that, she expressed how much she worried about him and missed him. This, by now, he had grown used to hearing.

"They're doing fine," he finally answered. "Char's just picked up a job as a teacher's assistant and'll be starting in September, Sarah also starts school then, and the usual stuff about worrying about me and missing me."

Jason listened to him quietly and nodded after. He leaned back in his chair a little bit but didn't break eye contact with him. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Yeah."

Silence fell between them again and this time Furby directed his attention to the food he had been neglecting on his tray. It only took him about a minute to eat it all. One of the things every Marine learned, that was hard to unlearn, was the ability to eat extremely fast. It helped when you were in a combat situation and never knew when the enemy might jump out and attack you. It was a trait every Marine learned in boot camp.

The not-so-fond memories of his drill instructors slapping their trays away before they could finish eating because they were, quote, "taking too long" flashed before his eyes. In an effort to fight them off, he decided to conversate some more.

"There's one thing that's bothering me," he said, breaking the amiable silence.

"Oh," Furby replied curiously. "What's that?"

"I don't think the Colonel was being entirely honest with me."

"About?"

"About his motives for having my team and I come here."

Furby thought about that for a moment. He leaned back in his chair again and glanced up at the ceiling, squinting just a little at the too-bright illumination emitted from the overhead lights. "If it's one thing I've learned about the good Colonel, even before he jumped in bed with the Spooks, was that he always does things for a reason. Even if we don't know exactly know what that reason is."

"But that's the underlying issue here, Jay," Ward stated, staring directly into his friend's eyes. "What are his reasons for having us here? What is he _hiding_?"

Furby shrugged without even contemplating his question. "He's a _Spook. _It's his job to hide things and, I hate to say it, he's damn good at it. There could be a million and one reasons why he wanted you and your men here. I just don't know what they could be."

Ward frowned, unhappy with his friend's answer. Furby sensed this and smiled meekly. "I do know one thing, though. Having you and your boys here is helping morale. When Winter Contingency was declared and the Covenant started landing troops, we were all excited at first. But after several hours of the bastards beating us back to the front gate and almost being overrun, that motivation turned to desperation. You showing up changed that. Even if it doesn't seem like it to you, I've been here for six months. You could say I'm attuned to everybody's feelings nowadays. Now, the only people who're worried about shit are the Spooks. But, like I said, they know more than we do so they might have a reason to. And, they're all hiding those reasons from us too."

Ward processed what Jason said in silence. After a couple minutes he managed to smile weakly and nod his head. He wasn't about to give up wondering what Colonel Durant's motives were; but he would let the issue rest at least for a little while. The Covenant weren't knocking at their door just yet. So he would try to make the most of the reprieve they were being given. "You should be an officer. You could inspire an army with speeches like that."

Furby scoffed and shook his head. "Just giving food for thought," he said, and then added with a smirk. "Besides, I have to deal with enough shit leading my own squad. I don't wanna know what kind of shit officer's have to deal with."

Ward laughed and stood up. Chow time was almost over and he wanted to see what his team was up to. Besides Mac and Owen, he hadn't seen any of the others. Jason picked up his now-empty tray and tossed it into the proper dispenser and then started towards the door, Jonathan right on his tail. They exited the mess hall together and then went their separate ways.

As he marched through the maze of corridors that all looked the same, he wondered how long it would be until the Covenant made their presence known again. He hadn't heard anything about their activities since his team and the base's Marines repelled them earlier that morning. Whatever it they were doing, it couldn't have been good.

If only he knew what they were up to.


	9. A New Strategy

**HALO: HELLJUMPER**

**By M. Cartwright**

**CHAPTER IX: A NEW STRATEGY**

**Time: Mid-Day**

**Location: Aboard CSS-Battlecruiser **_**Vengeful Judicor**_

The Sangheili Field Marshal marched confidently down the purple corridors of the _Vengeful Judicor, _on his way to the bridge. Just hours ago the vermin that were the humans had managed to cripple his forces that had been attempting to seize their mountain base. The price for such a failure had been great; he had suffered reprimand from the ship master and warned that a continuance to fail in carrying out his orders would be seen as heresy.

_Heresy. _He said that word with a great deal of malice. In the near-dozen campaigns he had fought valiantly in, he had never been so humiliated by the sting of defeat. These humans had been determined to keep their base upon the mountain theirs. They did not go down easily—something he was not accustomed to. But, it didn't matter. The supreme logic of the Sangheili dictated that humans were a fickle race. Their determination would wane and falter… and his men would be standing over their bloodied corpses when it did.

The door before him chimed at his presence and the doors parted, allowing him to step across the threshold into the bridge. It bristled with activity as his brethren and a handful of the lesser races moved to and fro. Standing atop the raised pedestal at the center of the bridge stood Salum 'Zukamee, the honored commander of the _Vengeful Judicor_. The commander approached the pedestal, his armored hooves pounding against the deck, and he halted at the edge of the ramp. Ship Master 'Zukamai faced about and gazed down upon his silver armored brother with curiosity. "Field Marshal 'Kasamee, do you have something for me?"

Krael 'Kasamee bowed before the Ship Master as he approached him. "Yes, Ship Master," he affirmed, raising his head to stare up at his superior. "I believe I have devised a strategy to seize the base of our enemy."

Ship Master 'Zukamai's face contorted into what could loosely be described as a smile. He gestured with his hands for Field Marshal 'Kasamee to stand, and he smartly obeyed, rising to his feet and standing perfectly erect. It was then that 'Kasamee realized just how much taller he was compared to his golden armored superior; standing roughly eight inches taller than the Sangheili standing before him. The thought almost made him chuckle.

Almost.

"Tell me of this strategy that you speak of," 'Zukamai demanded, turning around to march back up to the center of the pedestal. He liked to watch over the crew of the bridge to ensure things were going smoothly. His watchful eye had improved the performance of ship in battle many times in the past. He preferred to let the tradition to continue until he found himself promoted to master of the fleet. Then, one of his subordinates' could take his place upon his pedestal.

"Their defenses are strong and their forces determined," 'Kasamee began, eager to hear his superior's thoughts on his plan. "But we inflicted heavy losses upon their troops. I propose we send in another wave and establish a forward outpost within a few kilometers of the mountain. If you would allow me to supplement our forces with the necessary support vehicles, I can have their base overrun within a day."

'Kasamee couldn't read the elder Sangheili's expression as his back was turned to him. He was anxious to hear his opinion. Zukamai considered the merits of the strategy but inevitably shook his head in disagreement. "You tried to overwhelm them through sheer force before and _failed. _What makes you so certain that you will succeed this time?"

The Field Marshal felt his blood begin to boil. The Ship Master dared to question his ingenuity? He dared to assume that the plan would fail again? He saw no flaw in his plan—the size of his forces would be greater and mightier than before and he would ensure that his men were fiercely determined to eradicate the humans from the likes of that wretched mountain. But, as he began to calm down, he realized that no answer would satisfy his superior without amending his original strategy.

So, he quickly made amendments to his original plan. "While the vermin are distracted by the overwhelming assault from my forces, I will personally command a few Special Operations teams that will infiltrate their base. Before they realize what is happening, they will be corpses for us to _burn_."

'Zukamai stood in silence again for several moments. The suspense that was building was becoming insufferable for 'Kasamee. He impatiently waited for his commander's approval. Surely his alterations to the plan were satisfactory. Did he question the abilities of the Special Operations units? Did he not believe them capable of sneaking into their walls? Why was he keeping him waiting? What was there to think about?!

"Very well," the Ship Master finally answered. "Assemble your forces and depart for the human world."

"Yes, Ship Master. Thank you!" he replied excitedly. His thirst to spill the blood of the filth festering miles below them would soon be quenched.

"Oh, and 'Kasamee?"

"Yes, Ship Master?" he inquired, stopping at the exit to the bridge in mid-stride.

"Do not fail _again_."

Field Marshal 'Kasamee stood at the helm of the troop compartment of one of many of the Spirit troopships that were preparing to disembark the _Vengeful Judicor _down to the human world Kris-tal. He scowled at the name; it was a name unfitting of a human world. His eyes scanned the crowd of Sangheili, Kig-yar, and Unggoy before him. The majority of them stood erect and in silence. The only movement coming from a few Unggoy who fidgeted where they stood.

He growled at them and they squeaked in fear of him. Yet, it did not seem to get the point across that he wished them to stand still. "If you control yourselves I will slice your puny necks!" All movement immediately ceased from that point forward. Satisfied, he turned around and stepped into the cockpit. A pair of Kig-yar—the pilots of the craft—argued about something frivolous, completely unaware of his presence. He contorted his mandibles into a grin and leaned back slightly, content to watch the scene until he was noticed.

The two squawked angrily at one another for a few minutes before the one in the co-pilot's seat happened to look towards the door. It shrieked in surprise and sat rigid and its companion shifted its gaze over to him. The pilot jumped back in surprise and hit the accelerator by accident. The Spirit ripped out of its tethers and sped towards the hangar doors. Fortunately, the shields had been lifted just a second prior to this, so all that happened was the Spirit began to drift harmlessly through space.

Angered by what could have been a _deadly _mistake, he took two steps deeper into the cockpit and leaned forward so close that his mandibles were almost to its beak.

"You _fool! _I should kill you for that!"

The Kig-yar recoiled and turned around to face the forward holographic display. He heard the call over the BattleNet for the second wave to launch and ordered the pilots to take them down to the planet. Then, he pivoted on his heel and exited the cockpit. The troop compartment fell silent again as he stepped inside and he chuckled. Their discipline and obedience fueled his ego. If he issued a command they would follow it to their dying breath. He enjoyed wielding that kind of power.

Inspecting his troops one last time before deciding that a speech was necessary, he placed his hands behind his back and stood rigid. The expression upon his face was that of smug confidence. He had no doubt in his mind that the strategy he had painstakingly devised in light of his previous failure would work. He would succeed in achieving the objectives his superiors had given him. They wanted that mountain under sovereign Covenant control. Not only did it contain valuable secrets that the humans would rather them not acquire, but their base held something far more valuable. Something worth committing an entire battalion of his best troops and three Special Operations lances under his command.

He would not fail the Ship Master this time. The Prophet of Exultation himself had issued the order that the mountain be cleansed of the human infestation. And cleanse it he would. By the will of the Prophets and the grace of the gods, he would slaughter every last wretched human until that mountain was theirs. And perhaps such an act would grant him the recognition that he deserved. Maybe the Prophet himself would reward him for his deeds.

He could only hope.

"When we joined the Covenant, we took an oath!" he bellowed, his voice booming in the small confines of the compartment.

His brethren who stood by their troops stood proudly. "According to our station; all without exception!"

"On the blood of our fathers… on the blood of our sons; we swore to uphold the Covenant!"

"Even to our dying breath!"

"Those who would break this oath are heretics," he paused, his eyes scanning the crowd of soldiers, letting his words sink in. "They're worthy of neither pity nor mercy!"

His subordinates remained silent for some time as they pondered over his words. Wishing to make his words be more impactful, 'Kasamee added, "The humans, by the very definition, are _heretics_. They wish our Covenant destroyed and they desecrate the holy relics of the gods! They laugh at the idea of our Lords!" This caused a fervent uproar among the Sangheili, who growled viciously, and even a handful of the Kig-yar seemed to be angered by such a proclamation.

"We shall grind them into dust!" they exclaimed in unison, the anger and bloodlust wholly apparent in their voices.

"Upon their extermination we can finally be allowed to continue our march to glorious salvation!"

A thunderous uproar greeted his final words and 'Kasamee grinned evilly. His men, his _brothers_, would fight with great conviction in the fight for the mountain. Not a single one of them would willingly accept defeat by the human's hands. The battle for that mountain would be won, even if it required the shedding of Sangheili blood. Defeat was simply not an option here. And it was then he knew that he would not fail this time.

This time, that mountain would be his.

The dull luminescence of the compartment suddenly was replaced by scarlet illumination. The Spirit was preparing to land. Adrenaline surged through his veins and he unclipped the Plasma Rifle from his belt, gripping it firmly. When the ramps finally lowered, the Field Marshal was the first one to exit the craft. His feet made contact with the grassy landscape, a dull thud echoing in his ears. As he took a step forward, he noticed that the ground had left an impression of his hooves.

He gathered his men around him and issued orders to them. Dozens of other troopships arrived and offloaded their troops and cargo before ascending back up towards the heavens. The sun shined brightly across the landscape and his armor reflected its light. He was certain that the humans had seen his forces arrive and would likely be mounting some form of assault upon them. He planned for any such assault on their positions to fail.

'Kasamee ordered several lances into the nearby woods to set up defensive positions in case the humans did indeed send their forces to attempt to repel them. Then, he ordered all squads to have the lesser beings begin unpacking their supplies and start setting up their camp. He then issued orders to the Wraiths to move to the edge of the tree line and disperse themselves along it at even intervals. Finally, he sent an order for the Ghosts to patrol along the perimeter of the encampment and report anything out of the ordinary. The Field Marshal was determined not to be caught off guard.

Once their outpost was established, he would begin the preparations for the assault on the human-controlled mountaintop. The first order of business on his list was to get in contact with the Banshee squadrons operating nearby. His men would require air support to soften up the enemy's lines and to act as further distraction while the Special Operations commandos infiltrated the mountain base.

The planned on the humans coordinating all their efforts to repelling his forces. While, truthfully, their role was merely fodder to by time for the infiltration teams, in the end the outcome would be well worth the sacrifice. He would be sure to be there to see the humans' reaction when the realization that their time has come hits them.

And he planned to squash those few remaining humans like insects under his boot.


End file.
